


Caller ID Freaks Me Out

by putorius



Series: caller id freaks me out verse [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Autism, Autistic Character, Autistic Enjolras, Enjolras Is Bad At Communicating, M/M, Mathematics, both enjolras and grantaire have low self esteem, combeferre tries his best
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-09-12 23:51:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 33,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9096070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/putorius/pseuds/putorius
Summary: “Get R to do it,” said Combeferre finally.“He’s terrible at math.”Combeferre looked up. His glasses fell off.There was a pause.“What the hell are you talking about?” he asked.---otherwise known as the one where grantaire is a double major in drawing and mathematics and enjolras has been severely underestimating him. and also, theyre in love. enjolras doesn't notice, because, lets be real here. like he would notice if he fell in love.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi! this fic is probably going to be both longer and shorter than i want it to be but thats fine  
> everyone is out of character! which is also fine, because the les mis fandom fuels itself on headcanons  
> the idea is that enjolras is trying to go over the budget for les amis and he hates math. also, if he isnt careful, hes going to fail his math final. its fine, but he's dying a little over it.  
> this is. not even a little bit edited. i dont even have a beta, so, bear with me. i think i switched tenses about a thousand times.  
> next chapter should be up, um, whenever i remember?

Enjolras rubbed his eyes. “We need someone to go over the budget.”

“You do it,” said Combeferre. “You’re looking at it right now.”

“You’re better at math than I am,” said Enjolras.

“Barely,”Combeferre didn’t even look up from his work. His glasses were slipping dangerously close to the end of his nose, but he didn’t seem to notice.

Enjolras considered this for a moment and rubbed his chin. It was very domestic, the two of them across the kitchen table from one another, with their coffee and respective work. They might as well have shared taxes.

“Combeferre,” Enjolras said calmly. “If I have to do this, I’ll implode.”

His glasses were very nearly escaping his nose, but Combeferre still neglected to fix them. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re very melodramatic?”

Enjolras groaned. 

“Get R to do it,” said Combeferre finally.

“He’s terrible at math.”

Combeferre looked up. His glasses fell off.

There was a pause.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he asked.

Enjolras blinked. “Isn’t he? I thought he hated all that stuff.”

“That stuff,” said Combeferre, leaning back into his chair.

“You know,” Enjolras said plainly. “Art major, avoiding classes that might be, harder, I suppose.”

“I’m sure if you walked into a third year sculpture class you’d find it very difficult,” Combeferre quipped. “But that aside, R has never shied away from your so-called ‘harder’ classes.”

“Hasn’t he?”

“I think he dislikes general science classes somewhat - I’m not sure, you’d have to ask Jehan or Eponine - but he’s taken plenty of math courses.”

Enjolras bit his lip. He couldn’t imagine Grantaire sitting down at some desk with a calculator, puzzling through some horrible calculus problem. It was like imagining an elephant in a courtroom. 

“I thought he was an art major,” he said.

“He is,” Combeferre was losing patience somewhat. “Artists are allowed to be good at math, Enjolras. In fact, I’m told a solid understanding of the appropriate mathematics can be of assistance to an artist. Also, he’s a double major. Drawing and mathematics.”

“ _ What _ ?” 

Combeferre wiped his glasses on his shirt and put them at the appropriate place on his nose. “What are you surprised about exactly?”

Enjolras thought about this for one moment, and then for another.

“It’s just- I should have known this, right?”

“Explain.”

“I’m his friend, so I should have known he likes math. I mean, since it’s part of his major.”

Combeferre turned this over in his mind for a moment, and then, “Let me make us some coffee.”

“Coffee?” asked Enjolras.

“Yes,” said Combeferre, getting up. “Did you know that you aren’t his friend?”

Enjolras suddenly looked sharp and angry. “Excuse me?”

“Oh please, from R’s perspective - well, you have to know that only arguing with someone isn’t a good foundation for a friendship. You only talk to him when you’re angry, or otherwise incensed about something.”

“I do not only - do I do that?”

Combeferre rummaged around in their cupboards. “I think that, for you, your friends exist in registers. Jehan is your friend for poetry, Bahorel is your friend for boxing, I’m your friend for rational thinking and other ‘mom-friend’ ventures. You do other things with us all, of course, but for the beginning of our friendships, you like to keep us at bay and only go for that one, familiar thing. It’s just that the familiar thing for you and R is arguing, poorly disguised as debating. Do you know where we keep the coffee grounds?”

“I think we’re out,” said Enjolras distractedly. 

“You think we’re out?” asked Combeferre. “Why have I been looking for them, then?”

“I think we’re out,” repeated Enjolras. He stood slowly and retreated to his room.

\---

He wasn’t lurking, exactly, except for that he totally was. He had absolutely no business being in this section of the library, but it turned out he didn’t even have Grantaire’s phone number. It would have been humiliating to ask Combeferre for it after their conversation the day before, and he could have asked Jehan for it - only that risked a full hour of Jehan waxing poetic about the sun and the moon and what have you, and there was nothing to do about it.

So, he lurked. In the math section of the library, which was a section Enjolras was previously unaware existed. He didn’t even know recreational mathematics was a situation - that people did this kind of thing for fun. It always seemed to him that math was a vehicle to something else - to program a game, to properly give out medications, etc. - but not that math itself would be enjoyable. Math was something you had to get past to get to your destination, he thought.

“Enjolras?”

He jumped and nearly hit his head on a shelf. Grantaire laughed.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. “I’m just surprised to see you here.”

“Well, you know,” Enjolras tried to feign casual. “I thought I’d do some reading.”

Grantaire glanced at the shelf behind Enjolras. “History of calculus?” he asked.

Enjolras flushed. “I  _ am  _ a history major.”

“Mhm. What are you actually doing here?”

It was, frankly, not an option to say that he was stalking Grantaire.

“I need a book,” he heard himself say. “A workbook - I need to pass my final.”

“Ah,” Grantaire hummed. “Now might be the time to tell you that you’re in the wrong section.”

If his blush had gone down any, it would have come back full force. “Hm,” he said.

“It’s easy to do,” said Grantaire. “But this is all that creative nonfiction stuff, like, um, theory and histories and stuff. Some personal stories, that kind of thing. The workbooks are closer to the physics stuff for some reason. Probably the whole, uh, practical application thing.”

Enjolras doesn’t say anything, so Grantaire goes on.

“I mean, it’s this whole, like, active versus inactive thing?” Grantaire rubs his face. “Don’t quote me on that. Don’t say that to an actual professor, I made it up. I mean, there’s this whole thing with active math - like, the kind of math you need to do other stuff, like physics and chemistry or whatever - and inactive math - like, theory you’re just supposed to think about and not do anything with, or,” he gestures towards the shelf. “The history of calculus, which could really just be shelved with history books, if you’re going to be making that distinction already, I guess - um, I’m rambling. What I mean is, they get shelved apart all the time and they shouldn’t. It’s all just, you know. Math.”

Enjolras tried to lean back against the shelf, but he felt tense and the shelf felt unstable, so he abandoned that idea.

“Active versus inactive,” mused Enjolras.

Grantaire’s ears turned a little pink. “I mean, don’t go spreading that around. It’s nonsense. And I made it up.”

“It makes sense, I think.”

“Well, that’s,” started Grantaire. He stopped himself. “Just, you know.”

“Know what?” asked Enjolras.

“That’s your perspective, as a non-mathematician. I think someone who actually knows what they’re talking about with this stuff would, I don’t know, smite me. Or something.”

“Oh,” says Enjolras. Grantaire’s eyes are suddenly very wide.

“You’re very smart,” he says. “I’m just - I’m trying very hard not to put my foot in my mouth here, and I already fucked it up, I think.”

“It’s okay,” said Enjolras, even though he’d been a little hurt.

“Seriously, it’s more about me than it is about you. About, like, being hesitant to accept my ideas as good, or whatever.”

“I see,” said Enjolras. He was starting to feel a little weak in the knees.

Grantaire wasn’t flushed the way Enjolras was, but he looked a little desperate and sweaty, like he wasn’t anticipating a single thing that had come out of his mouth.

“Um, they’re over that way,” Grantaire pointed a few shelves over. “The workbooks, I mean.”

“Thanks,” said Enjolras. 

“And, if you needed to run some math past someone, or needed help or something, I could probably help. If you wanted.”

“Yes,” Enjolras heard himself say. “I’ll probably - yes, I’ll need the help.”

“Great,” said Grantaire. “Great. Well, you can just. E-mail me, or text me or something and we’ll work it out.”

Grantaire turned to leave before the words were even fully out of his mouth. Enjolras wanted to start drafting a text to Grantaire already - his nervousness often manifests itself as over planning - but he still didn’t have his number. 

“Idiot,” Enjolras said to himself.

\---

“Idiot,” said Grantaire, with feeling. “I’m an idiot.”

Jehan stroked Grantaire’s hair. It was awkward in that position, what with the both of them lying on their apartment floor, but the attempt was made anyway.

“What makes you say that?” they asked.

“I talked to Enjolras today. In the library.”

Jehan pursed their lips. “Mhm?”

“I  _ talked  _ to him,” Grantaire moaned, covering his face with his hands. “And then I kept on talking to him.”

“How does that make you an idiot?” asked Jehan.

“I just, you know, kept saying things. It’s like I wasn’t in charge of it.”

“Were you rude?”

Grantaire paused. “No. I mean, I think I might have insulted him once, but I caught it.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“We were talking about books,” he said. “And where to find them in the library, so there was nothing to argue about. It was all factual.”

“Mhm.” Jehan has been known to be very patient.

“So, he didn’t stop me. At all. He just let me keep talking, because there wasn’t anything to argue about.”

The sun streamed in through the window. It was those cotton candy evening shades that Grantaire liked so much. It washed over them like they were cats.

“I’m failing to see how any of this makes you an idiot,” Jehan said.

“I didn’t know what to do,” Grantaire said. “I started it, too, on impulse, but I thought he would shut it down.”

“Why?”

“All we do is argue, so I thought he wouldn’t want to talk to me. I thought he’d say he was there to fucking read and I’d make fun of him for whatever book he had on hand or for being lost or something, and he would get angry at me like normal, and then we’d both show up to this week’s meeting with some tension under our belts.”

“But that didn’t happen.” It isn’t a question.

“We talked. Or I talked at him. I didn’t know what to do, since he didn’t stop me.”

“I think Enjolras would be a good friend for you,” Jehan says slowly. “If you talked to him. You don’t have to talk to him if you don’t want to.”

Grantaire opened his eyes. “Do we have any wine?”

“No,” said Jehan. “You know that.”

“I know,” said Grantaire. “Just thought I’d give it a try.”

“There is not a single drop of alcohol on the premises,” says Jehan. “Except for rubbing alcohol, for cuts.”

“I know that,” says Grantaire. “It’s just that I’m an idiot.”

Jehan hums to himself. “It’s almost like you’re confusing that word for a different word entirely. Something that means, ‘person with low self esteem’ or maybe ‘remarkable human being who frequents libraries’.”

“I offered to tutor him,” says Grantaire helplessly. “And he said  _ yes _ , and now I’m going to die because I don’t think I can explain college level algebra to  _ Enjolras  _ of all people without at least some scotch in my system.”

“You can do anything without scotch in your system,” said Jehan.

Grantaire groaned and sat up. Jehan sat up with him.

“Can I paint on your back?” asked Grantaire.

Jehan took their shirt off and turned around. “Give me something with cats, or maybe something about space.”

\---

Enjolras is sitting in the middle of their living room floor when Combeferre gets home. He likes to work there, sometimes. Combeferre knows it isn’t easy for Enjolras to sit normally and work upright in desks all the time, and he knows that Enjolras won’t admit what a childhood of forced normality did to him, so he is keenly aware of what it means for Enjolras to be sitting on the floor under a shroud of heavy blankets.

“How was your day?” asked Combeferre.

“I need Grantaire’s phone number,” said Enjolras. “Also, I talked to him today. I ran into him at the library.”

“And?” Combeferre hung up his coat.

“He said he would tutor me in math. I think he might be upset with me.”

Combeferre sat next to him. It looked like Enjolras had been working through some political theory, which was usually what he did to calm down.

“Do you want to talk about that?” asked Combeferre.

Enjolras thought for a moment. “I want to say two things and then I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“Okay.”

“He ran out of there,” said Enjolras. “Before he was even done talking, he just turned around.”

“Okay.”

“He sounded really unsure. I’ve never heard him sound that way before.” Enjolras bit his lip. Half of his bottom lip was always swollen because of this.

Combeferre sighed. “Do you want my input before we move on?”

“Sure.”

“There’s always an objective when you two talk. You always have to take down the other. Maybe neither of you know what to do when you’re just having a friendly conversation. Maybe that’s why he was nervous.”

Enjolras thought about this.

“Oh, Enjolras,” said Combeferre. “I know that look.”

“What look?” Enjolras asked.

“The look that says you’re planning something, or that you’re about to be planning something.”

“I’m not planning anything,” Enjolras said innocently. 

“Whatever you’re planning, don’t do it.” said Combeferre. “Or at least, run it by me first.”

\----------


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This is fine,” Enjolras gritted his teeth. “This is the easiest thing in the world.”
> 
> “You look like you’re having a stroke,” Grantaire said, amused. “Or maybe an aneurysm.”
> 
> Enjolras blew a lock of hair out of his face. “I’m furious at the entire subject of mathematics.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all the robespierre stuff may or may not be true, i typed it off the top of my head and i cant remember how accurate it is because its currently four twenty six in the morning. dont quote me on it!  
> also!! you were all very nice about the first chapter, so thank you!! its basically a stream of consciousness fic with absolutely no planning, so things might not always match up like they should. for example, this chapter makes about as much sense as a patchwork quilt. sorry about that! hope you enjoy it anyway

\----------

When Enjolras walked into the kitchen at three in the morning, Combeferre was already there making eggs.

“Why are you making eggs at three in the morning?” asked Enjolras.

“Mostly, it’s because I’m not in charge of my person.” He looked Enjolras up and down. “What are you doing up?”

Enjolras looked worse for wear. Enjolras was a huge fan of routine - he liked, generally, to be in bed by midnight and to be up by nine. Being up three hours later than usual had already caused him to look unkempt and irritated.

“I kept waking up. I can’t get to sleep properly.”

“That’s interesting. Do you want cheese in your eggs?”

“Are you making me eggs?” asked Enjolras.

“I am now,” Combeferre shrugged.

Enjolras sat at the kitchen table and twiddled his thumbs. “Do not yell at me for this,” he said.

“I make no promises,” said Combeferre. The eggs were quickly turning scrambled against his will.

“I may have a plan. For Grantaire. A Grantaire plan, if you will.”

“Hm,” Eggs were harder to make than Combeferre remembered. It was possible they were just harder to make at three in the morning.

“It’s common sense, really,” started Enjolras. “I’m going to be nice to him. And do nice things for him. I could get him coffee when he tutors me, or something.”

Combeferre shoveled eggs out of the pan onto their plates. He set one plate in front of Enjolras and sat down across from him with the other.

“So,” he said. “Your plan is to be nice to him and to do nice things for him.”

“Yes,” said Enjolras. “How does that sound?”

“It sounds like you’re trying to court him. Which is fine.”

“Do you think it would work?”

Combeferre shrugged. “I think it could. I think R is the kind of person who would react well to obvious occurrences, like getting coffee.”

Enjolras took a bite of the eggs. They were good, but so was most food at that time of night.

“Did you know that you’re a very good friend?” said Enjolras.

“Yes, I did,” said Combeferre. “But it doesn’t hurt to hear anyway.”

\---

_ Hey, it’s Enjolras. I was wondering if the tutoring offer was still open? And if so, when you’re free? Thanks - Enjolras _

Grantaire woke up at eight in the morning and read the text from Enjolras four times. Then he put the phone down and went to make coffee. When he returned to his bedroom, he picked his phone up and read it four more times. Then he went back to bed. When he woke up again, it was two in the afternoon and the text was still there.

_ yeah the offers still there, im good for thursday sometime after four pm if thats good for you??? _

He hit send before he could stop himself.

“Well,” he said to himself. “I guess I’d better go punch something.”

\---

Combeferre would never get used to watching Enjolras get ready for a meeting. Enjolras had always been very consistent - he always drinks a full glass of water and stashes his laptop in his messenger bag,then  he puts on a jacket and a scarf if it’s cold enough, slings the bag around his shoulders and stops right in front of the door. He takes a deep breath and exhales completely before opening the door and walking out. It’s at the exhale that Combeferre can always see the transition between Home Enjolras and Public Enjolras. It’s the transition from the boy who likes to sit on the floor and who doesn’t wear matching socks to the boy who has two different planners and who walks around like every conversation is a diplomatic agreement. Combeferre has seen Enjolras eat dinosaur chicken nuggets and listened to him explain in detail exactly how he felt about a particular episode of  _ Friends,  _ but he knows Enjolras would never do either outside of their apartment. Enjolras is lucky, Combeferre thinks, that one of his special interests is applicable to a career, that he gets to talk about it for the rest of his life if he wants to. Combeferre knows that Enjolras will most likely make himself sit upright in a desk for the rest of his life, even if he prefers the floor. Combeferre has met both of Enjolras’s parents - and they’re nice, average people, he supposes - but he will never forgive them for producing this result.

Technically speaking, Les Amis have never had a leader. It says so on their flyers. It is well understood that everyone gets as much say as the next person. Debate is welcome. That aside, someone needs to organize things and move the meetings along, and they all know that person is always going to be Enjolras. They all know he’s the leader, even if no one but Grantaire says it, and they would all follow him into battle because they know Enjolras wouldn’t take them anywhere without full consideration of each of their opinions. It was good that they all let him take control of everything - Enjolras cared about everything very deeply and it would have driven him insane if he was unable to take the lead. He was an anxious planner, and he was frequently anxious. It was a good outlet for him.

The back room of the Musain was rectangular with warm mauve walls. Jehan thought the hardwood floors were charming. Joly thought they could be charming if they were properly finished, but as they were, they were more of a splinter hazard. Enjolras was just grateful Musichetta let them use the room at all, and that it was large enough to fit a table in. He liked to have everyone sit around it at once. To him, it felt like a proper weekly family dinner. Grantaire had once remarked that it made him feel like a knight at the round table.

“Who is King Arthur in this scenario?” Enjolras had asked.

Grantaire had smiled at him. Grantaire had a large, toothy smile that made him seem like he knew something everyone else didn’t.

“I don’t think you’ll like my answer,” he’d replied.

Enjolras narrowed his eyes. “Try again.”

“Okay, what if it’s like the Last Supper?” Grantaire’s eyes always had a watery twinkle to them.

“If you think for a second you’re about to compare me to  _ Jesus _ -”

Grantaire had put his hands up in surrender and Combeferre called the meeting to order, and that was the end of that.

At this particular meeting, Enjolras was severely off his game. Talking to Grantaire at the library had thrown a wrench in his usual routine. Enjolras had done it on purpose, of course, - he went to the library specifically to find Grantaire - but he hadn’t expected it would throw him off kilter so much. That is to say, he hadn’t expected it to cause him to feel feelings, and now he wasn’t sure he could go back to arguing with Grantaire the way he used to. He wanted to argue with him. He loved arguing with him. Grantaire was sometimes the only person who could suss out weak spots in Enjolras’s arguments, and that talent was invaluable. It was just that yelling at Grantaire seemed somehow counterproductive to becoming his friend.

He stumbled three times making the opening statements and ended up asking Combeferre to take over. Combeferre was out of his seat before anyone could blink.

After the meeting, Enjolras sat calmly while Joly pressed his hand to Enjolras’s forehead in an attempt to take his temperature.

“You don’t feel warm,” said Joly. “Or clammy, and your heart rate is normal. If you give me a moment, I have a travel thermometer in the car.”

“I’m fine,” said Enjolras.

“You’ve never had to sit down before,” said Joly. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you stutter before. I have connections at the hospital, I can set you up with an MRI in a blink, you know -”

“I think he’s alright,” said Bossuet, placing a hand on Joly’s shoulder.

“I’m okay, really,” said Enjolras. “Just a little tired. I didn’t get to bed on time last night.”

Joly nodded. They all knew how much Enjolras depended on his routine.

They filtered out within ten minutes - Courfeyrac and Jehan had plans to crash some party a few streets over and had roped much of the group into joining them.

“Do you want to walk home now?” asked Combeferre.

Enjolras shook his head. “Go on without me. I’ll be home in a bit,” he said. He could see Grantaire loitering in the back corner.

Combeferre nodded. He looked back at Grantaire and nodded his goodbyes.

Once they were alone, Grantaire approached him.

“Was that my fault?” he blurted.

“Um,” said Enjolras. “What?”

Grantaire looked sheepish. “You had to sit down. You never have to sit down.”

“Oh.”

“Not that - I don’t think I’m, like, the driving force in your life or anything. Things can be affecting you that aren’t me. Wow, I’m, uh, ruining my own life here. What I mean is, are you alright?”

“Do you want to get coffee?” Enjolras said suddenly.

“I’m - what? Do you mean right now?” asked Grantaire, startled.

Enjolras checked his watch. It was nearing nine, which meant it was nearing the beginning of his night routine - he liked to be in pajamas by nine thirty and to tidy his room a bit before having a cup of tea at ten.

“Sure,” he said. It was strained.

“Where’s open?” asked Grantaire.

It was a good point. Most coffee shops would have been closing up shortly if they weren’t already closed. If they asked Musichetta to make them something after the Musain’s official closing time, she’d throw a mug at them.

“We could get some coffee on Thursday,” said Grantaire. “Like, for the tutoring thing. We could get coffee after that, or something.”

This aligned perfectly with Enjolras’s plans.

“Okay,” he said. “That sounds good.”

Grantaire smiled at him. It wasn’t the all knowing, toothy smile he usually had. It was smaller this time, but more sincere. It was like Grantaire was trying to hide it. Enjolras wanted to make him smile like that until he couldn’t hide it anymore.

\---

Enjolras knew, objectively, that it was okay to be bad at math. He knew it was okay to have other talents and to have other interests. There’s a lot of pressure to be good at math and science - things that require empirical data and that can make people a lot of money if they’re utilized correctly - and Enjolras knew it was all bullshit. Math and science are noble pursuits, but they have never been and will never been more noble than, say, music or history. Knowing this didn’t stop him from feeling somewhat embarrassed about his inability to remember trigonometric functions when they came so easy to Grantaire.

“This is fine,” Enjolras gritted his teeth. “This is the easiest thing in the world.”

“You look like you’re having a stroke,” Grantaire said, amused. “Or maybe an aneurysm.”

Enjolras blew a lock of hair out of his face. “I’m furious at the entire subject of mathematics.”

Grantaire chuckled. He was leaning dangerously far back in his chair and was at constant risk of tumbling backwards. The librarians used to come and scold him for this, but had since learned that he was a lost cause. Now, they just sent him to one of their private study rooms in the hopes that, should he finally fall over, the noise would be less likely to disturb the other patrons.

“What are you laughing at?” asked Enjolras.

“You’re very angry.” said Grantaire.

Enjolras felt his face flush. Having Grantaire tutor him was a good idea on some level - it was the perfect opportunity for Enjolras to implement his friendship plan and lacked some of the uncertainty of casual hanging out - but it meant that Grantaire got to watch Enjolras make a fool of himself.

“It’s  _ hard _ ,” said Enjolras. “It doesn’t make any sense, and I’m an idiot -”

“Hey, now,” Grantaire pitched forward and sat normally in his chair. “You’re the least idiotic person I know.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. Grantaire conceded. 

“Alright, you’re the  _ second _ least idiotic person I know, right after Combeferre. Look, did you know that I don’t know what ever happened to Robespierre?”

“What?” 

“You know, the guy from the revolution. I know he did his whole Reign of Terror thing, but I don’t know what happened after that. I always supposed people just sort of forgot about him.”

“ _ What? _ ” said Enjolras. “No, the people didn’t just  _ forget _ about Robespierre! He was so - so  _ unavoidably _ significant to the revolution. He was absolutely ruthless, and he held so much power - you do  _ not _ just forget people who run your country and put your people in a constant state of terror, Grantaire. The public didn’t  _ forget _ him.”

“So? What happened?” Sometimes, it was difficult to tell if the twinkle in Grantaire’s eye was due to mischief or just their constant state of moisture. Enjolras was too riled up to care either way.

“He - well, he had this list.”

“A list?”

“Of conspirators and what-have-you. He was getting more paranoid, toward the end, on account of he kept killing people who were sort of important? So he had this list and he announced to the council or parliament, I guess is the equivalent, that he would be dealing with the people on the list. As in, murder, most likely.”

“I see.” Grantaire looked absolutely riveted.

“The meeting ran out of time, so, he was effectively ‘saved by the bell’ and said he would read the list out the following meeting. Only, since nobody knew who was on that list, they all felt they would be in danger. You know, because Robespierre was getting paranoid.” Enjolras liked to use his hands when he talked.

“Sure, sure,” said Grantaire.

“It was obviously more dangerous  _ not _ to take action than  _ to _ take action, so they attacked him the next meeting. He got away briefly, and tried to kill himself, but missed -”

“He  _ missed _ ?” asked Grantaire.

“ _ Yes _ , he missed, and so they captured him, and he was killed. Because he was more dangerous alive.”

There was a silence as Grantaire let that sink in. He bit the inside of his cheek.

“How did he miss?” asked Grantaire.

“He tried to shoot himself,” said Enjolras, not missing a beat. “But the angle was off, slightly, so he ended up shattering his jaw instead of killing himself. It’s really very interesting, because he was unable to speak after that -”

“Because of that shattered jaw,” supplied Grantaire.

“ - because of the shattered jaw, yes, so he couldn’t try to bargain or anything. He couldn’t even deliver the list, since he couldn’t speak, so it’s actually entirely possible that there  _ wasn’t _ a list in the first place. He could have been attempting to incite fear in the government itself.”

“And why would he do that?” Grantaire loved the way Enjolras got when he talked about history. It was like he could barely contain himself, like the facts and excitement would just bubble up and over the top without any effort at all.

“The Reign of Terror had been very effective in gathering power among the masses during the revolution,” said Enjolras. “Only, once the revolution was primarily over and the new government was in place, he couldn’t stop. Terror gave him all of his power, and if he stopped, the power would be gone. So he had to keep going with it, and since he needed to keep power in the government itself and not just among the people, it’s possible the list was fake. It wouldn’t be unlike him to create a fake list the same way it wouldn’t be unlike him to make a real list and actually kill the people on it.”

“That’s amazing,” said Grantaire.

“No, it’s horrible,” said Enjolras. “Terror should never be utilized as a means of maintaining power.”

“That isn’t what I meant. I meant you.”

“Well, I - oh. What?”

“I could have never remembered all that, and you just had it at the top of your head! That’s amazing, Enjolras.”

“Thank you,” said Enjolras.

“Truly, it is. I don’t know how you keep it all straight.”

“It’s just facts,” said Enjolras. “History is just remembering facts in order, like a story.”

“It’s absolute nonsense to me,” said Grantaire pleasantly. “It would make just as much sense if you handed me a history book in Klingon.”

“Oh,” said Enjolras.

“It’s okay to not be good at certain things,” said Grantaire. “You’re just wired differently. Look at you, knowing all about Robespierre. You’re a certified history genius.”

“That’s very motivational. I’m surprised.”

“I’m full of surprises,” said Grantaire.

“I distinctly remember you saying you wanted to die because you got a poor grade on a history paper,” Enjolras said. “Did it occur to you that you’re wired for math and not history?”

“No, well, that’s different.” Grantaire seemed sheepish.

Enjolras cocked his head to one side. “How so? You’re clearly intelligent, gifted in math, you’re an excellent debater -”

“It’s different because I’m an idiot,” Grantaire said quickly. “Now, do you remember sine?”

“You aren’t an idiot,” said Enjolras. It was starting to feel like he’d said the wrong thing, and that he shouldn’t have brought up the history paper in the first place.

“It’s opposite over hypotenuse. You take the length of the side opposite the angle you’re working from and divide it by the length of the hypotenuse.” Grantaire wouldn’t look him in the eye.

“You aren’t an idiot,” said Enjolras firmly. “You’re one of the smartest people I know.”

Grantaire’s ears were getting pink. He rolled his shoulders back and the left one popped loudly.

“I think it’s as good a time as any for a coffee break? If you want. I was promised coffee, back at the Musain.”

“Of course,” said Enjolras. “Coffee.”

\----------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, please leave me a comment! <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I think they’re at risk of exploding,” Combeferre said. “If they aren’t careful. But if they are, I think they’ll make the best couple the world has ever seen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you all really are too nice to me, honestly  
> by the way, since i havent mentioned it yet, the title of this fic comes from the rusty clanton song 'calm and normal'

\----------

There was a small bakery across the street from the library. Grantaire had been there once or twice with Jehan, who loved the large windows. Jehan liked to be there in the early morning, when the arched windows let in the milky morning light. Grantaire liked to be there around seven in the evening when the sunset made the hardwood and pastries look like they were from a fairytale. Enjolras and Grantaire ended up in a booth in the back of the shop at around five thirty. The clear daylight made it look like the set of a movie, and both of them felt stiff and awkward in it.

“So,” said Grantaire. “Any special reason you wanted to get coffee?”

Enjolras shrugged. “We really only see each other at meetings. I thought we could just hang out a bit.”

Grantaire tried to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. Enjolras decided to steamroll through it.

“Well,” he said, lifting his coffee mug. “This is the part where I ask you what you favorite color is.”

Grantaire watched Enjolras take a sip of coffee. Every move Enjolras made was specific and precise. He held the mug with careful hands.

“My favorite color?” Grantaire asked. “Green. Or Orange.”

“Orange?”

“Mhm. I think it’s more versatile than other colors. I like that it can be soft or harsh.”

“Why do you like green?” asked Enjolras.

Grantaire shrugged. “I just like it.”

Enjolras’s lip quirked up. “You just like it. That’s fine. It’s your turn to ask a question.”

“My turn? Oh, well,” said Grantaire. “I’m unprepared. I’ll have to ask about your favorite color.”

“Gold.”

“Really? Gold?” Grantaire sounded surprised. “I would have guessed red.”

“Everyone guesses red,” said Enjolras. He sounded amused.

“And what do you like about gold?” asked Grantaire.

Enjolras shrugged. “It’s pretty.”

Grantaire grinned. “Alright then. It’s your turn.”

“Are you religious?” asked Enjolras.

“Wow, you aren’t afraid to break out the big guns,” said Grantaire, raising his eyebrows.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” said Enjolras.

Grantaire shook his head. He had thick, wide black curls for hair and they moved every time Grantaire so much as shifted his weight. When he shook his head, they took on a mind of their own. Enjolras liked to watch them shift. He got the same feeling from watching Grantaire’s hair as other people did from watching the tide go in and out.

“It’s alright,” said Grantaire. “I’m Jewish.”

“Really?” asked Enjolras.

“Reform Judaism, you know. I don’t keep kosher, even though my mom did. I don’t attend services all that often, but Jehan and I have a mezuzah and I do all the holidays and stuff.”

“Hm,” said Enjolras.

“My mom would be so disappointed in me,” Grantaire continued. “I don’t even really do shabbos. I mean, I read the right passages and whatnot, but I don’t do it properly, with dinner and electricity and not working.”

“You pray every Friday?” asked Enjolras.

“Like clockwork, I guess.” said Grantaire. “Is it my turn yet?”

“Sure.”

“Would you ever get a piercing?” asked Grantaire.

“No,” said Enjolras. “I don’t think they’d suit me. I do have a tattoo, though.”

“What?” asked Grantaire. “Where? Why? When? Oh my God, what is it?”

Enjolras laughed. “You seem very excited.”

“Of course I’m excited, this is the best news I’ve ever gotten in my entire life. I never would have pegged you for the type to get a tattoo! What is it and where is it? Can I see it?”

“You already asked me a question,” said Enjolras. “You’ll have to wait your turn again.”

Grantaire groaned.

\---

Jehan and Grantaire had the most capital R-romantic apartment in the entire world. Jehan liked the living room to be filled with plants and books. All furniture had come from antique shops and thrift malls. Jehan loved the armchair, which looked to be straight out of a Marilyn Monroe film. The couch was a pale blue paisley that clearly belonged in a nursing home. Grantaire had laughed when Jehan brought it home, but had ended up painting it with thick acrylic paint. Jehan had it framed as soon as it dried. The image now hung above the couch itself. Grantaire had his easel set up against the main window. Their drapes were practically useless - lovely, thin white lace that bunched in the middle. At the same time that Enjolras and Grantaire were out for tutoring and coffee, Combeferre and Courfeyrac were on Jehan’s couch. Jehan was in the kitchen mixing four different teas together to make the ultimate tea. 

Combeferre always sat in a sensible sort of way. Here, he was sitting at the end of the couch with an arm propped on the armrest and one ankle propped on the opposite knee. He was trying in vain to read a book about a carpenter and a secret agent. Courfeyrac was lying down across the couch with his head leaning on Combeferre’s leg. Courfeyrac had many talents, including his ability to be irritating and endearing at the same time.

At least Combeferre was only visiting. He wasn’t sure why Courfeyrac still had his own apartment if he was going to spend all of his time at Jehan and Grantaire’s.

“They only have two bedrooms,” Courfeyrac said.

“Like you would need your own bedroom,” scoffed Combeferre. “You could bunk with Jehan.”

“Who does what with me?” asked Jehan, walking into the room.

Combeferre laughed into his book. Courfeyrac buried his face in Combeferre’s hipbone.

\---

Once they were all upright and situated with their tea, Jehan put on a Frank Sinatra record and they talked about their dreams.

“Let’s talk about our dreams,” said Courfeyrac.

“Oh, of course,” said Jehan.

“Who wants to start?” asked Combeferre, who very much did not want to start.

“We could draw straws for it,” said Courfeyrac, who very much wanted to start.

“I’m writing an epic,” Jehan already sounded choked up. “The same length and language as the Odyssey, but about a genderless alien in New York City.”

Combeferre took a sip of his tea. “When you say the same language, do you mean that you’re writing it in the same, old-fashioned tone, or that you’re writing it in ancient Greek?”

“ _ Yes _ ,” said Jehan passionately. 

“Holy fuck,” said Courfeyrac. He sounded breathless.

Combeferre laughed openly at the both of them. They were so obviously in love with each other.

“Do you laugh at my artistic pursuits?” asked Jehan. They were practically glowing, though, so Combeferre knew they weren’t offended.

“I’m laughing at you two,” he said.

“Us two?” said Courfeyrac.

“Mhm,” said Combeferre.

It was like Courfeyrac couldn’t help it, he had to be elongated at all times. He got up off the couch with his tea and spread himself out on the carpet.

“My dreams are fabulous,” he said. “They include a large farmhouse and expensive plates, soap with glitter in it, and plenty of alcohol.”

“Wow,” said Jehan.

“The house is going to look like the one in Pippi Longstocking. But there’ll be farmland around it.” said Courfeyrac.

Combeferre wondered how Enjolras and Grantaire were doing. The two of them were such specific people that the combination was volatile. Alternatively, they might get along swimmingly and become the most peculiar couple in all history. This would require Enjolras to notice that Grantaire had been smitten with him for what felt like decades, or for Grantaire to confess his feelings. Combeferre knew neither would happen in this universe. Someone would have to push it. He bit his lip. They would be good together, he knew. Combeferre knew he would probably have to give the push himself.

“Hey,” said Courfeyrac, kicking Combeferre’s foot. “You aren’t paying enough attention to us.”

“Sorry,” Combeferre said.

“What has you looking so forlorn?” asked Jehan.

Combeferre waved his hand. “It’s nothing.”

“Oh my, it’s  _ something _ ,” said Jehan. They moved to sit next to Combeferre. “Tell me everything.”

“There isn’t anything to tell,” said Combeferre. “I was just thinking about Enjolras and Grantaire. They’re supposed to be at coffee by now.”

Jehan nodded. “Yes, they are.”

There was nothing to say, so Jehan waited patiently for Combeferre to go on. It took a moment for Combeferre to catch the hint.

“I think they’re at risk of exploding,” Combeferre said. “If they aren’t careful. But if they are, I think they’ll make the best couple the world has ever seen.”

“You seem very sure they’re going to fall in love,” Jehan raised their eyebrows.

“That’s unlike you. That’s more Jehan’s domain,” said Courfeyrac.

Jehan hushed Courfeyrac. Courfeyrac tried to laugh it off, but felt rosy and dreamy under Jehan’s attention.

“It’s so obvious,” said Combeferre. “So obvious and inevitable that even  _ I  _ couldn’t miss it. Don’t you think so?”

“Of course I do,” said Jehan. “Why, I’ve known Grantaire would fall in love with Enjolras since the moment they first met. Do you remember? Enjolras was so vividly angry about something or another and Grantaire was absolutely starstruck with the fury of it all. It was just a matter of whether or not Enjolras would ever have a legitimate conversation with Grantaire.”

“Well, he’s having one right now, I expect.” Combeferre said.

“You sound dejected,” Courfeyrac tried his best to sound like a therapist. “Tell me about that.”

“I’m not dejected,” said Combeferre.

“My dear, you’re dejected,” said Jehan. “You’re very,  _ very _ dejected.”

“There isn’t anything to be dejected about!” Combeferre said. He was starting to feel a little caged in.

Jehan and Courfeyrac made eye contact with one another. Courfeyrac quirked his lip and Jehan straightened his spine. It usually didn’t bother Combeferre that Jehan and Courfeyrac could have conversations without saying a word, especially since he could do the very same thing with Enjolras, but in this moment he was sufficiently irritated.

“Oh, my,” said Courfeyrac before dissolving into delighted snickers.

“What?” asked Combeferre.

Jehan pursed their lips. “It’s nothing,” they said.

“Oh god,” said Combeferre. “It  _ is _ something, isn’t it?”

“It’s nothing,” said Jehan. They looked pointedly at Courfeyrac. “It’s  _ nothing _ , isn’t it, Courfeyrac?”

“It’s absolutely nothing,” said Courfeyrac. He had a wide-eyed innocent look about him. Combeferre had long since become immune to this look, but he’d seen it get Courfeyrac a number of favors in the past.

“I can’t believe you two are ganging up on me,” Combeferre joked.

They all laughed together. Combeferre made a mental note to ask Courfeyrac about all of this later, when Jehan wasn’t around. Courfeyrac was generally easier to trick than Jehan was.

\---

Combeferre left shortly after to finish a paper back at his apartment. Courfeyrac decided his back would be better off if he laid on the couch instead of the ground. Jehan flipped the Sinatra record and joined him. Jehan was small and somewhat frail. This used to bother them until they realized it meant he could sit cross-legged on Courfeyrac’s torso like a house cat without crushing him.

“So,” said Jehan. “We’re on the same page about Combeferre, yes?”

Courfeyrac smiled. “He likes them, doesn’t he? Enjolras, at least.”

Jehan nodded. “Certainly Enjolras. I think he’s somewhat charmed by Grantaire, though.”

“That seems uncharacteristic. He seems more like the type to know someone really well before liking them.”

“Well, he’s known Enjolras since they were kids, and I think even Combeferre see’s Enjolras and Grantaire as a package deal. That’s probably sped things up. You know, I don’t think he’s even realized it. It must still be in the early stages for him. You know how he likes to mother hen. I’m sure he still thinks that’s what he’s doing here.”

“They’re going to dance around each other for centuries,” Courfeyrac said.

“Centuries,” said Jehan. They pulled their hair into a ponytail. Courfeyrac brushed a stray lock behind their ear.

“You have really lovely hair,” Courfeyrac said.

“Mhm, that really interesting,” Jehan said. “Did you know that I’m going to kiss you shortly?”

“What?”

And then they were kissing. It was very light and airy. Courfeyrac had never kissed anyone in a way that was remotely light or airy, but this was somehow more intimate. It was exactly how he expected Jehan to kiss.

Jehan pulled away.

“Anyway,” they said. “Do you want to go for dinner and talk about our feelings?”

“God, yes,” said Courfeyrac.

\----------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i thought id develop jehan, courfeyrac, and combeferre a bit more! since thus far, theyd been acting as anecdotes or the Therapist Friend. also, i wanted to plant the seed for some future enjolras/combeferre/grantaire  
> please leave me a comment! i cherish every single one


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire snapped before Enjolras did, which surprised everyone who heard about it.
> 
> “He snapped at me,” Enjolras would say. “He was really angry.”
> 
> “Grantaire snapped at you?” they’d all say. “Grantaire did?”
> 
> “Yes,” Enjolras sounded miserable. “He did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who writes self indulgent fics and doesn't proofread them even though they know it doesn't flow well? i do! its me, i do. thanks for waiting for this, even if it doesnt make much sense at all.  
> honestly, i wanted to rewrite this chapter for a thousand different reasons. i dont think it makes any sense. but i really wanted to upload something and i couldnt figure out how to fix it without scraping the entire thing, so here we are. please be kind.

\---

Grantaire snapped before Enjolras did, which surprised everyone who heard about it.

“He snapped at me,” Enjolras would say. “He was really angry.”

“ _Grantaire_ snapped at you?” they’d all say. “ _Grantaire_ did?”

“Yes,” Enjolras sounded miserable. “He did.”

\---

Enjolras and Grantaire were, if you asked Courfeyrac, destined to be together from the beginning. He’d taken a leaf out of Jehan’s book and liked to compare them to the moon and the sun. Enjolras was obviously the sun, according to Courfeyrac, because he was all combustion. It wasn’t about him giving off light - that blinding, blinding light that would no doubt lead a revolution and nourish the seeds of rebellion or what-have-you - it was the combination. It was that Enjolras could explode, that he was constantly combusting on himself and someday he’d burn out but that was _someday_ well in the future, and as it was his miraculous nuclear fission was feeding everyone around him.

Grantaire, then, was the moon. He brought the tides in and out. He orbited the earth and played with the sun during eclipses, and he had songs written about him, and people wanted to colonize him or discover him or visit him, and he was an endless mystery the way the sun just _wasn’t_ because even though it is and will always be impossible to land on the sun, the finality of landing on the moon was _so much more._ Landing on the moon means that we did it, space travel is a reality. It also means we’re only on our front porches, so to speak. And there’s so much more space out there, and maybe we don’t need to visit our moon again to be a part of that, but it was the stepping stone. The moon will never stop being a romantic destination.

So Enjolras was the sun. And Grantaire was the moon. The sun is supposed to explode. The moon is supposed to orbit and stay whole.

“What did he do?” asked Courfeyrac.

“He didn’t do anything,” said Enjolras. “It was me.”

“What did you do?” asked Courfeyrac.

“I don’t know,” said Enjolras.

“Did you ask?”

“I thought he would get madder,” said Enjolras. “He said he’d text me later.”

Courfeyrac and Enjolras both knew Grantaire would not text him later. Courfeyrac texted Combeferre instead.

_did u kno ur boys r fighting???_

_No, I didn’t. What about?_

_e says he doesnt kno, but r got upset abt smthn_

_I’ll take care of it._

\---

“Let’s take a walk,” Combeferre said, standing on the stoop of Jehan and Grantaire’s apartment.

“Um,” said Grantaire, standing just inside the door of his apartment in his boxers. “What the hell time is it?”

“Nine thirty,” said Combeferre. “In the morning. I’ll wait for you to put some pants on, if you like.”

“Um,” said Grantaire, turning around to find a pair of pants.

\---

The park was nearly empty at this time of morning. It was too early for any children to be up and about without parents, so, save for a few joggers, the expanse of grass and sand pathways was theirs for the taking. Combeferre counted insect species as he noticed them.

“Now, I know you didn’t pull me out of bed at this hour for fun,” said Grantaire. “If you did, I’d have to disown you.”

Combeferre exhaled. It was almost a laugh.

“I wanted to check on you,” said Combeferre. “Are you alright?”

“Am I - for fuck’s sake,” said Grantaire. “You’re here for Enjolras.”

Combeferre’s eyes widened. “I’m here for you,” he said.

“No, you’re here because you think I hurt his little feelings,” Grantaire shook his head. “That’s amazing. Here I was, thinking you wanted to hang out with me.”

“You said yourself that isn’t what I wanted,” said Combeferre calmly. “But I promise I’m here for you.”

Grantaire huffed. He wanted to hit something. It had been ages since he and Bahorel had met up to box.

“Listen,” said Combeferre. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“Nothing happened,” said Grantaire. “I was an asshole, is what happened. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

Combeferre was really very good at keeping his face neutral. It was a learned skill - to keep himself from giving anything away while still looking kind and receptive.

“I repeat,” he said. “Can you tell me what happened?”

\---

He was having a bad day. Everything was going well for him, but he was having a bad day anyway.

“Here’s your coffee,” said Enjolras, sitting down.

Grantaire grimaced. Enjolras was being absurdly nice to him of late, and it was making him nervous. Three weeks ago, Enjolras wouldn’t have bought him coffee. Three weeks ago, Enjolras wouldn’t have been alone in the same room with him at all.

“Thank you,” he said. It was strained. “What do you want to work on today?”

“Are you okay?” asked Enjolras. “You don’t look well.”

“We left off with you just learning the trigonometric functions, so I thought we could apply them today. With triangles.”

“Should I not have brought you coffee?” asked Enjolras. One of the things Grantaire had always liked about Enjolras was that he was always very straightforward in an unashamed way. In this specific instance, it pissed him off.

“It’s fine,” Grantaire was gritting his teeth. “Do you want me to explain how to solve for an angle or not?”

“I do, but I would also like it if you weren’t mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you,” he said, because he wasn’t.

“You’re upset, though.”

Grantaire _was_ upset, but it wasn’t about anything in particular, and he didn’t want to talk about it with anyone at all, _especially_ not Enjolras.

“Do you want to talk about it?” asked Enjolras.

“No,” said Grantaire. “What I _want_ is to teach you how to find the angle, or the measure of a side of a fucking triangle using SOH CAH TOA.”

“Okay,” said Enjolras. He looked like he was fighting to hold his tongue.

“Let me draw up and example,” said Grantaire. He took out a notebook and started to sketch a problem.

Enjolras was fighting a losing battle. “But, if you _do_ want to talk about it, at a later time or date, you know that I’d be more than happy to listen. Even if you didn’t want my input.”

Grantaire snapped the pencil he was holding. Later, he’d think back on this and be surprised at himself. It was a mechanical pencil.

“Listen,” said Grantaire. “I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to talk about it with _anyone at all_ , but I _especially_ don’t want to talk about it with _you_.”

Enjolras looked hurt, but had the grace to not mention it. “That’s alright. You don’t have to, But, you know, I’m your friend, so the offer is always there.”

“My friend?” Grantaire said bitingly. “I’m your _tutor_.”

Grantaire reared back suddenly, looking shocked and frustrated with himself. He scrambled to get up suddenly. His chair fell over when he stood up.

“I’ll text you,” he said. He left his coffee on the table.

\---

“Well,” said Combeferre. “That wasn’t ideal.”

“No shit,” said Grantaire.

“You don’t seem like the kind of person who generally appreciates the whole ‘I know how you feel,’ spiel, but I’ll throw it out there anyway.”

Grantaire scoffed. “Oh, please.”

“Really,” said Combeferre. “If we were at my apartment, I’d show you my Zoloft prescription.”

Grantaire started walking faster and hung his head down, like he thought he might be able to sneak his way out of this conversation. He never would have pegged Combeferre to be the kind of person to be depressed, certainly not the kind of person who was so depressed that they required medication.

“Hey,” Combeferre said. He jogged a little bit to get in front of him and caught Grantaire’s shoulder. They stood opposite each other.

“Hey,” Combeferre said, hand still on Grantaire’s shoulder. “It’s okay to have bad days. I won’t pretend to know exactly how you feel, but I promise you, Enjolras has absolutely no idea. He’s got a lot going on, but clinical depression isn’t something he deals with. He doesn’t know what happened back there, and he won’t until you tell him.”

Grantaire didn’t smile, but he didn’t look as upset as he had before. “So, you _are_ here for Enjolras?” he said. It sounded like he was joking this time around.

Combeferre exhaled. “For the both of you, I guess. I care about you, you know?”

Combeferre gave a light punch on Grantaire’s shoulder in camaraderie.

“You have terrible form,” said Grantaire. “Your thumb is in the wrong place.”

Combeferre threw his arm around Grantaire’s shoulders. They walked on.

\---

Enjolras had an old fashioned dial phone on his bedside table. It was one of the most absurd vestiges of his rich upbringing - their house was so vast that it was more efficient to have a phone in most rooms than to go looking for whoever you needed. Once Enjolras had been old enough for a cell phone, the phones fell mostly out of use, but Enjolras still liked them. He liked people to call his landline before they called his cell because he liked to recognize people by their voices. It was like a game.

Sitting straight backed and stiff as though at a desk, Enjolras waited at the head of his bed for the landline to ring. He felt like he did that first day at the library - waiting and waiting awkwardly for Grantaire to stumble into his life.

The phone rang. Enjolras scrambled to pick it up.

“Hello?” said Grantaire. “It’s me. Grantaire. It’s Grantaire.”

“Yes,” said Enjolras, who had recognized his voice.

“I’m - well, Combeferre is here.” said Grantaire.

“Oh?” asked Enjolras.

“Yes,” said Grantaire. “I wouldn’t have called otherwise. I mean, I should have. Combeferre knocked some sense into me. So I’m calling.”

“Alright,” said Enjolras. “I’m glad you called.”

“I was having a bad day. I mean, I’m constantly having bad days, but that one was, um, worse than usual.”

“Oh,” said Enjolras.

“Depression is hard,” said Grantaire. “And sometimes it’s extra hard, so I thought you should know that it wasn’t about you. It was - you know, self-esteem stuff. Depression stuff.”

Enjolras twiddled his thumbs. He worried the hem of his shirt.

“I just - I thought I’d done something wrong.”

Enjolras heard Grantaire sigh like the wind had been knocked out of him.

“No,” he said. “God, no, Enjolras. You didn’t do anything wrong. I was just upset. Not at you, just, like, in general. I shouldn’t have -” Grantaire inhaled sharply. “I shouldn’t have said that we weren’t friends, because we are. And that was horrible to say to you, because you were really trying. It’s that poor self-esteem stuff again, you know? Like, we didn’t start hanging out until you needed a tutor, so I thought maybe I was just your tutor. And not your friend.”

“I didn’t mean to do that. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” said Grantaire.

“No,” said Enjolras. “It isn’t, because there was this whole situation in my head that you weren’t - aren’t - privy to, and that isn’t fair, because then you can’t properly judge my actions for what they are.”

“It’s okay,” Grantaire said again. “I know you didn’t mean to, like, hurt me, or whatever.”

“I _know_ I didn’t mean to, but I did anyway, and that isn’t okay. Can I tell you what happened?” he asked. “Let me tell you what happened.”

Enjolras made his bed frequently. He made the bed when he got up in the morning and adjusted it whenever it got mussed. Sometimes, he remade it before bed even if it was already made properly. During the phone conversation, he was so nervous that he couldn’t sit still, and kept ruining the hospital corners he’d worked so hard on.

“Okay,” said Grantaire quietly. “You can tell me.”

Grantaire had effectively opened the floodgates. There was no stopping Enjolras now.

“It was because I don’t know how to do the budget,” Enjolras said quickly. “And Combeferre told me you were good at a math and could help, and I said you _weren’t_ good at math because I thought you weren’t because, I don’t know, probably because of some dumb misconception or misplaced interaction, and I had thought we were friends already, but Combeferre _again_ pointed out that you probably didn’t think we were friends because most friends don’t spend all their time debating and doing nothing else, and so I thought I should fix this - like, that we should actually become friends, _real_ friends, only I didn’t have your phone number and if I asked Combeferre or anyone else, I thought they’d be suspicious or laugh - you know how they are - so I decided to wait around at the library until I found you, and then the whole tutoring thing happened because I wanted to spend time with you but I didn’t just want an unstructured hang out because I didn’t know enough about you to hold a proper conversation, and also, I really am terrible at math and I really do need help, like, really, really badly.”

There was a pause.

“Did you breathe at all during that?” asked Grantaire. “Do you need an inhaler?”

Enjolras exhaled. It sounded like a laugh. “I’m good. That was very embarrassing.”

“It was,” mused Grantaire. “But that’s okay.”

“Okay,” said Enjolras.

“See you next week,” said Grantaire.

“For tutoring?” asked Enjolras.

“For tutoring,” said Grantaire.

\---

Several weeks later, Enjolras was actually understanding his math homework.

“Really,” said Grantaire. “I think you’ve got it.”

“I _know_ I’ve got it,” said Enjolras confidently. He ran his hand through his hair. “However, have you considered that I don’t have it?”

Grantaire chuckled. “You do. Trust me.”

“Can we keep doing this anyway?” asked Enjolras.

“What, now-unnecessary tutoring?” asked Grantaire.

“Well, not exactly,” Enjolras fidgeted in his seat. He hated wooden chairs. “Just studying. I like studying with you.”

Grantaire looked sheepish, but he nodded anyway. Enjolras smiled at him.

\---

At first, they kept on doing math. It seemed dangerous to do anything else, as though it would break the perfect balance they had. Enjolras truly did need to study for his math final, but Grantaire was quickly running out of effective things to do for his math courses. It would have been a better use of his time to work on the final paper for his political science class, or to actually finish up his portfolio, but it felt like playing with fire. If he did anything other than mathematics within forty feet of Enjolras, it would throw everything off-kilter. He’d shatter.

Naturally, he started making stuff up.

“What are you working on?” asked Enjolras.

Grantaire had quite the set-up going on on his half of the table. He had what appeared to be some seriously complicated work strewn over about fourteen pages of loose leaf paper - some graph paper, some lined, even some drawing parchment.

“That doesn’t look like anything I’ve seen you do before,” said Enjolras. “That much writing. What class is that for?”

Grantaire’s ears went pink. “It’s not for a class, exactly. It’s, like, barely math. Just barely. Remember that thing about, um, active versus inactive math? From the library?”

“Yes,” said Enjolras, because he’d memorized the encounter and sometimes played it over in his head to analyze his own mistakes.

“I’m trying to turn it into something real. You know, trying to make some kind of coherent paper out of it.” said Grantaire.

“Looks coherent,” said Enjolras. He sounded amused.

Grantaire looked at Enjolras with wide eyes. Earlier this year, he never would have dreamed of Enjolras cracking jokes with him.

“I’d like your help with it after it’s written,” Grantaire heard himself say. “Not the mechanical stuff, but there’s some argument stuff in here, and you write arguments really, uh. Really well.”

Enjolras looked at Grantaire with wide eyes. Earlier this year, he wouldn’t have ever thought Grantaire would come to him willingly to ask for help. He wouldn’t have thought Grantaire would be comfortable with that.

But here they were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was thinking it was a little unrealistic to have them just get along really well, so, uh, conflict. here it is.  
> on the bright side, i have some idea of where this is going! when i first published this, i basically just wrote 30 pages in three days in a fit of sudden inspiration and was totally winging it, but i spent some time trying to figure out what had to happen next. yay for direction! also, as i was writing this, i was thinking it was pretty funny that combeffere didnt even ask courfeyrac what he was talking about when he said "ur boys r fighting". im not saying anything for the future of this fic, but i am pointing out that combeferre doesnt even question the use of "ur boys"  
> as always, please leave me a comment! i love them!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The unit circle is a circle with a radius of one that is used to understand sines and cosines of angles found in right triangles,” said Enjolras.
> 
> “Alright,” said Combeferre. “Have you considered sleeping, ever?”
> 
> “Have you considered minding your own business?” said Enjolras. He rubbed his eyes. “No, that was rude. I’m very sorry. Also, I’m dying.”
> 
> Grantaire snorted. “Drink some water with that coffee.”
> 
> “Water coffee,” murmured Enjolras.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whats up i knocked this out in a couple hours while watching parks and rec and i was hardly paying attention to anything other than the page count so forgive me if this is choppy and weird. i tried? also, wow. you guys are so nice to me and i smile every time i think about your lovely comments.

\---

They found Combeferre thoroughly asleep in a nook in the reference section. They dragged him groggy and half-awake to their study room. They gave him coffee until he started to seem like himself. In another era, they might well have been nursing him back to health.

“This was very kind, but unnecessary,” said Combeferre. His eyelids were still drooping at a dangerous level.

“Oh please,” said Grantaire. “You have an indent the shape of an encyclopedia on your cheek.”

“You were clutching it like a teddy bear,” Enjolras said seriously.

Combeferre rubbed his cheek sheepishly. He wondered how many people had walked past him before Enjolras and Grantaire had happened upon him.

“You should really take more breaks,” said Enjolras.

“That’s rich coming from you,” Combeferre laughed. He’d seen Enjolras get so stressed that he’d blown through his standard routine entirely and lost days of sleep during past finals.

So this was where Enjolras and Grantaire liked to study. It was alright, if not cramped. The room was small and square and grey, and it didn’t even have a window into the main library, but it had enough room for a few chairs and a decent work table. There was a poster on the wall of a cat hanging on a branch. There was a soft table lamp pushed to one side and a medium sized ceiling lamp in the shape of an oval. Combeferre could understand why this was the corner of banishment by librarian - there was not a single appealing thing about this room, save for the fact that you could talk freely. He considered that if he’d been there alone, the room would have seemed cold and unwelcoming. With Enjolras leaning so close to him in concern and Grantaire looking at him fondly, he felt rather warm.

“Med school is the worst,” he said. “But I promise I’m alright.”

“If you’d said you’d be at the library today, I’d have asked you to join us,” Enjolras said. He looked back at Grantaire for confirmation, who smiled, wide and toothy.

“Sure,” said Grantaire. “Misery loves company. Have I shown you this paper I’m working on yet? It’s  _ miserable _ .”

Combeferre and Enjolras both knew Grantaire meant it to be a joke, but it bothered them anyway. Enjolras pursed his lips in frustration. Combeferre watched them both. They knew Grantaire sometimes couldn’t resist doing that to himself, but they wished there was something they could do to help without immediately scaring him away.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” said Combeferre plainly. Grantaire laughed and started to organize himself to explain his thesis.

\---

After that, Combeferre became a fixture in their study sessions. It was a good thing, too, because he was the best at sweet-talking the librarians.

“Dorothy,” Grantaire said. “I mean,  _ come on _ . I’ve already dragged this thing all the way out here.”

Grantaire was referring to a large hangable whiteboard he’d spent three hours trying to bargain with an exasperated Wal-Mart sales rep for. Grantaire thought there was nothing quite like writing equations out on a whiteboard, like some kind of professor in some kind of movie. It was one of the things he’d first found attractive about mathematics - how lovely it looked all written out in a nice blue dry erase marker. It was relaxing to him, like watching sand falling. He needed all the relaxation he could get with his paper. It was killing him to work on.

Dorothy was a small, terrifying woman. She was maybe five foot three in her sensible heels, and had thin blonde hair and tiny, intense features. She wasn’t an unpleasant person, but she didn’t do well with loud noises and liked things to be orderly, which is why she’d decided to become a librarian in the first place. She would have liked Grantaire if he didn’t have a habit for knocking things over on accident. She very much liked Combeferre, who was usually quiet and made nice small talk with her when he checked out books. The most disruptive thing Combeferre ever did was fall asleep, which she found fairly endearing. The most disruptive thing Grantaire ever did was to knock over an entire shelf of books when he startled himself with his keys.

“ _ Dorothy _ ,” Grantaire said again. “Have a heart, my love.”

She pursed her lips and looked past him at Combeferre, who was loitering a few steps behind Grantaire. He stifled a laugh at Grantaire’s meager attempts to bring his whiteboard into the library.

“Can I help you with something, dear?” she asked Combeferre. Grantaire looked scandalized and Combeferre smiled broadly.

“That’s alright, ma’am. I’m just waiting for Grantaire.”

Her eyes widened. “You’re friends with this boy?”

Combeferre laughed. “I am. He’s a good man, truly.”

Dorothy pursed her lips again, but conceded.

“If you keep an eye on him,” she said to Combeferre. “He can hang the whiteboard up in the study room.”

“Thank you very much, ma’am. I promise we won’t break anything.”

Grantaire noticed that when Combeferre looked at Dorothy, he gave her the same smile he gave politicians and the police when they showed up at protests and needed to be talked down. Grantaire had never met anyone with such a convincing fake smile before. He hoped Combeferre never directed it at him.

\---

Enjolras didn’t even notice when Grantaire and Combeferre entered the study room. He didn’t notice the whiteboard. He didn’t notice them hanging it up, not even when Grantaire dropped it and it made an uncomfortable clanging noise that Dorothy was sure to purse her lips at. In fact, Enjolras didn’t notice a single thing other than his homework until Combeferre placed a cup of coffee in front of him from the shop across the street.

“The unit circle is a circle with a radius of one that is used to understand sines and cosines of angles found in right triangles,” said Enjolras.

“Alright,” said Combeferre. “Have you considered sleeping, ever?”

“Have you considered minding your own business?” said Enjolras. He rubbed his eyes. “No, that was rude. I’m very sorry. Also, I’m dying.”

Grantaire snorted. “Drink some water with that coffee.”

“Water coffee,” murmured Enjolras.

“Okay,” Grantaire put down his marker. “We should take you home.”

“I’m not going home. I can’t study at home.”

“The point is that you can sleep at home,” said Combeferre.

“My desk is horrible,” said Enjolras. “It’s very uncomfortable and it doesn’t fit in my room and I can’t focus when I sit at it.”

“That’s okay. Don’t sit at the desk,” said Grantaire. Enjolras was looking overwhelmed and desperate.

“I like to sit on the floor,” said Enjolras.

“We should get you to bed,” Combeferre said quickly.

“You can sit on the floor if you want,” said Grantaire. “The floor is great! I’m very in favor of floor sitting.”

“Oh, dear,” said Combeferre. Grantaire didn’t know what he said, but Combeferre did.

Enjolras burst into tears. He cried in a closed off sort of way, folding in on himself. His shoulders turned inward and his head hung low, his knees pulled in, and he wouldn’t look at anything. He cried silently, save for a few gasps here and there. Grantaire was fully out of his depth.

“Or not! We don’t have to sit on the floor. Desk sitting is also good.” he said. This made Enjolras cry harder.

Combeferre took the coffee away from Enjolras and replaced it with his water bottle.

“Hey,” said Combeferre quietly. “It’s okay. I’m going to give you my jacket, if that’s okay.”

Enjolras tapped his knee twice, which is what he did when he couldn’t talk and wanted to confirm something. Combeferre hung his jacket around Enjolras’s shoulders. Enjolras liked blankets to weigh him down when he felt unstable like this, but when blankets weren’t available, Combeferre would give him his jacket.

“There we go. Can you drink some water?” Combeferre asked. Enjolras snapped his fingers, which is what he did when he couldn’t talk and wanted to say no to something.

“That’s okay,” Combeferre said. He knew it was less about an avoidance of water and more about Enjolras not wanting to open his mouth. “Do you want to sit here for a while or do you want to go home now?”

Enjolras had stopped crying. He was peculiar, because his face never got blotchy and red when he cried. His eyes would get red and his entire face would end up wet because he cried large, lemon drop tears, but his complexion stayed approximately the same. When Grantaire cried, his face looked like a patchwork quilt it was so blotchy and uneven. Grantaire knew it was inappropriate and insensitive to think about that at the moment, given how worried he was for Enjolras, but he couldn’t help thinking it. It nagged at him that Enjolras could look like that even when he was crying.

“Home,” said Enjolras. He sounded weak, but he took a swig of water and wiped his entire face on his shirt. Doing so revealed part of his midriff, which was not the point, but Grantaire couldn’t help but notice the start of a tattoo under the band of Enjolras’s jeans. He snapped himself out of it as soon as he could. He couldn’t believe himself, feeling both helpless to assist Enjolras because he didn’t know what to do and useless and rude because he couldn’t shut down his low self esteem long enough to think about Enjolras as a person.

“We can do that,” said Combeferre. “Let’s go.”

\---

“It was horrible,” said Grantaire. “How could I think like that?”

Jehan deserved a smoke. If they smoked, they’d be doing it all the time, because they were constantly having to deal with ridiculous and exasperating hijinks their friends got into.

“Walk me through it again,” said Jehan.

“He was having a breakdown, or a meltdown, I don’t know, but it was  _ something _ , and I was totally useless,” said Grantaire.

“You’ve never seen him like that before,” said Jehan. “He wouldn’t blame you for not knowing what to do. Plus, Combeferre was there to help.”

“I know that, but I wanted to help anyway.” said Grantaire. He was very upset, but he was wearing awful yellow polka dot pajama pants, and Jehan was having some trouble ignoring their comical nature.

“I know you did. You might consider asking him about it once he’s calmed down. Combeferre might be willing to talk to you about this, too.” said Jehan.

“I just,” Grantaire held his face in his hands so that his voice was muffled. “How could I  _ think _ those things?”

“What, about how attractive he is when he cries?” It was brutal and direct, but Grantaire needed it.

“ _ Yes _ ,” said Grantaire. “That’s - it was - God, it was  _ awful _ , just totally, I don’t know, wrong? Inappropriate?”

“Hm,” hummed Jehan.

“I shouldn’t have thought like that, right? That was wrong of me.”

“I don’t know that it was wrong, necessarily. Perhaps ill-timed.” Jehan said carefully.

“I found beauty in his misery,” said Grantaire.

“To be fair, you are an artist by trade,” said Jehan. “That’s your job.”

“He’s my, you know.” Grantaire stopped briefly, then continued. “He’d my friend. And I couldn’t help him, and  _ then _ all I could think about was how he looked.”

Jehan rubbed Grantaire’s shoulder. “Okay, so this wasn’t ideal, but I don’t think it’s as bad as you think.”

“In what world,” said Grantaire.

“In this one,” said Jehan. They were being very patient again. “Look, you find beauty in everything. That’s your job. Last month, you went out at one in the morning to take pictures of dumpsters in, and I’m quoting you here, ‘the glow of the city at night.’ You couldn’t help him, which  _ is not your fault _ , and you didn’t know what to do, so you had two separate thoughts because the process was familiar and that was comforting, and that you ended up recognizing as being of issue. I think the best thing you can do is to learn how to help him in the future and move on from here.”

Talking to Grantaire about this kind of thing was always difficult because it was hard to get Grantaire to recognize that poor actions didn’t mean he was a bad person. Jehan could feel the gears turning in Grantaire’s head as they spoke, so they jumped in again.

“You aren’t a bad person,” said Jehan. “You were scared.”

“Being scared doesn’t excuse anything,” said Grantaire.

“No, it doesn’t,” said Jehan. “But it does explain behavior, and it gives you something to work off of. It also changes the severity of the action. I mean, you did not set out with the express purpose of being disrespectful. It was an accident, and you didn’t hurt anyone in the process.”

There was a pause. Grantaire lifted his head.

“You’re right,” said Grantaire.

“I know,” said Jehan, petting Grantaire’s hair. “I know.”

\---

Combeferre left Enjolras alone under five blankets for about five hours. Before he left him, Combeferre had left an extra water bottle and a protein bar on the side table. Combeferre waited in their living room for Enjolras to be ready to talk. Around hour four, he heard the crinkle of the protein bar wrapper and smiled to himself.

When Enjolras finally came out of his cocoon, Combeferre was highlighting a textbook. He had a yellow highlighter in his left hand and a pink highlighter in his mouth. There was a small pink smudge on his cheek. Enjolras thought it was adorable.

“That’s adorable,” said Enjolras.

“Hey,” said Combeferre, putting the highlighters away. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” said Enjolras. He sat cross-legged next to Combeferre on the couch.

“That’s good,” said Combeferre.

“Grantaire is probably beating himself up right now,” said Enjolras.

“Probably,” said Combeferre.

Enjolras bit his lip. Combeferre noticed Enjolras did this when he was thinking, which was difficult. If Enjolras was thinking hard about something, it was probably something Combeferre should also be thinking hard about, and it was very distracting when Enjolras bit his lip.

“Should I apologize to him?” asked Enjolras.

“No,” said Combeferre confidently. “You didn’t do anything. If you like, you might consider telling him about your situation with the floor.”

“Hm,” said Enjolras.

“Do you want to tell me why you were running yourself into the ground?” asked Combeferre.

“It’s just, I mean. Grantaire is a really good teacher,” said Enjolras.

“That’s true,” said Combeferre.

“I mean that this is the first time I’ve really understood a math class, and it’s because of him.”

“That’s great,” said Combeferre. He’d seen Enjolras cry because of math before, but never because he understood it.

“I’m just worried that I don’t actually understand it,” said Enjolras. “Because I’ve never gotten math like this, I feel like I’m cheating. I feel like I have to study like I used to, but since I understand it, it feels like I’m  _ over _ studying, and it’s exhausting.”

“Probably take a break from studying,” said Combeferre. “You’ll exhaust yourself even more and you might get seriously ill.”

“I know,” said Enjolras. “It’s just that this is uncharted territory for me.”

“Ah,”said Combeferre. He knew how Enjolras felt about uncharted territory.

“Like, I can’t stop. I’m like a shark, and I have to keep filtering functions through my gills or I’ll die.”

“You won’t die,” said Combeferre kindly. “I promise. Please know that what you’re doing to yourself is dangerous.”

“I know,” said Enjolras. “He just makes me feel so  _ stupid _ .”

Combeferre bristled. “What?” he asked. If Grantaire was hurting Enjolras -

“Not like that,” said Enjolras quickly. “I mean, he’s been very adamant about how smart I am. He’s be very kind. I don’t know what it is. Something about how he teaches or talks to me or something - it’s not that I feel unintelligent! I feel stupid like how I did with Emily in the tenth grade. Like how she was always one step ahead of me?”

Combeferre understood. Enjolras didn’t. Every one of their friends at the time had seen that Enjolras had a hilarious crush on Emily in the tenth grade. Enjolras didn’t have crushes frequently and didn’t know how to process them, and so he hadn’t noticed and had attributed the feelings to the closest thing he could - stupidity and anxiety.

“I know what you mean,” said Combeferre.

“I feel like it can’t be going this well,” said Enjolras. “That I can’t really know anything about math and that it can’t be this easy to get along with him. And these two really, really impossible things are happening at the same time, and then he talked about the  _ floor _ , and that was it.”

Combeferre put his arm around Enjolras. “I’m glad you told me,” said Combeferre. He didn’t feel all that glad, but he couldn’t place why.

\----------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey if you want to get in touch with me between updates, consider following my tumblr @putoriius ! itll be fun we can hang out  
> please leave me comments! i feel more motivated to write when you leave them!  
> combeferre isn't especially glad because he now realizes that enjolras is starting to love grantaire but still has not realized that enjolras is starting to love combeferre. also, combeferre hasn't noticed he has a thing for enjolras yet. its fine. i mean, nothing is fine and theyre all idiots, but itll be okay. i promise. also, i hate writing sad endings, so this work wont have one. happy endings all around!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire didn’t know why people thought it was okay to show up at his apartment early in the morning, but it kept happening. First Combeferre, now Enjolras.
> 
> “Scones,” said Enjolras, holding up a medium sized paper bag.
> 
> “Okay,” said Grantaire. He was standing there in his boxers and an old t-shirt, but he was so confused he couldn’t care.
> 
> Enjolras cared. He cared very much, and he wished Grantaire would put on some pants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> man i didnt even try to edit this. just so you know. sorry abt that, ill actually edit one of these days.  
> thank you for the kind comments! they really made my day i was so happy to read them, you all are just the sweetest

\----------

Grantaire was nervous that they wouldn’t show up this time. They had long since stopped calling and texting each other to confirm that they were meeting - it wasn’t tutoring, and the library was a public place, so they didn’t see the need - and it wasn’t that Enjolras or Combeferre had called to say that they  _ weren’t _ coming, but Grantaire worried anyway. Whatever Grantaire had said the last time had set Enjolras off. Maybe he didn’t want to be around Grantaire anymore. Maybe Combeferre was so protective of Enjolras that he didn’t want to be around Grantaire either.

He was vibrating with nervousness. He couldn’t sit still, so he hopped up went to stand at the whiteboard to work.

When Enjolras and Combeferre walked in, Grantaire didn’t notice. He had earbuds in and the music was playing so loud they could both hear it.

“Should we tell him we’re here?” asked Combeferre.

“No,” said Enjolras. “I think he’s in a groove, so to speak. He might lose total focus if we interrupt him.”

It was true. Grantaire was writing frantically on the whiteboard, and only some of it was familiar. There were graphs and pictures, and the whole thing looked more like physics than what Grantaire was usually working on. It barely looked like math at all. It was a hodgepodge of things, some pure math, some physics, some bits that were obviously just doodles of triangles with faces and cars driving with little speed lines. If they’d interrupted him, he would have been thrown off course. It looked like he was having fun.

Enjolras and Combeferre sat down at the table facing the board. They got out their respective binders and put on as though they were going to work, but neither of them did. They just watched Grantaire work, occasionally smiling at each other whenever Grantaire did something that was particularly endearing. Namely, that he would whisper “Fuck,” under his breath every so often before starting up again. Sometimes he would change marker color mid-equation, just to make it look nicer. Sometimes he would get so excited that he’d vocalize suddenly and drop his marker. It reminded Combeferre of the one time he’d managed to get all the Amis together for one outing - they’d gone to the art museum. Enjolras hadn’t paid much attention to Grantaire back then - it was before Grantaire had stopped drinking, and an inebriated Grantaire reminded Enjolras too much of his mother for Enjolras to ever want to talk to him - but Combeferre had watched Grantaire’s eyes light up when they walked in. He’d watched Grantaire whisper full histories of every piece they stopped to look at to Eponine, who didn’t care about art as much as she cared about being in the same place as Cosette and comforting Grantaire.

“Do you see the brush strokes here?” Grantaire had said. “ _ Movement _ . He’s creating movement out of nothing.”

“Gee,” said Eponine, looking distantly at Cosette. “That’s beautiful.”

Combeferre thought it was. Beautiful, that is.

\---

Grantaire had started taping pieces of notebook paper and sticky notes to the board when he started to run out of space. He turned around to grab a new highlighter and dropped his phone in surprise. He hadn’t noticed Enjolras and Combeferre come in.

“Christ,” he said. “When the hell did you all get here?”

“It’s been about an hour and a half,” said Combeferre. “We didn’t want to startle you.”

“You looked really focused,” said Enjolras.

“I’ve never seen you work that intensely,” said Combeferre.

Grantaire rubbed the back of his head. “I caught a wind, I guess.”

Caught a wind was an understatement. He’d been blowing through his work like a tornado.

“It was impressive,” said Enjolras. 

“It was,” said Combeferre.

They were telling the truth. Enjolras couldn’t believe he had so severely underestimated Grantaire before their friendship. He wouldn’t be surprised to find out that Grantaire had a genius level IQ.

Grantaire looked sheepish at the praise. He wanted to talk about what he was working on - it was a lot of fun, and more accessible than it looked - but he couldn’t risk them being so nice to him. If he kept on letting it happen, he’d start to get used to it. He didn’t want to get used to it, in part because he didn’t think he deserved it and in part because he didn’t know what he would do when it stopped. And he was sure it would stop eventually.

\---

Grantaire didn’t know why people thought it was okay to show up at his apartment early in the morning, but it kept happening. First Combeferre, now Enjolras.

“Scones,” said Enjolras, holding up a medium sized paper bag.

“Okay,” said Grantaire. He was standing there in his boxers and an old t-shirt, but he was so confused he couldn’t care.

Enjolras cared. He cared very much, and he wished Grantaire would put on some pants.

\---

“Why are we eating scones on my couch this early in the morning?” asked Grantaire.

“Oh,” said Enjolras. “I was kind of hoping you wouldn’t ask.”

Grantaire laughed incredulously. “Like I wouldn’t ask. I’m usually asleep for three more hours.”

“Are you sure you’re a student?” Enjolras raised his eyebrows.

“Afternoon classes,” said Grantaire. “And a lot of independent study. Who cares, anyway? Spill it, whatever it is.”

Enjolras put his scone down on his plate. He took a deep breath.

“I wanted to tell you what happened the other day.”

“Oh,” said Grantaire.

“I’m autistic,” said Enjolras.

“Um, yeah,” said Grantaire. Enjolras shot him a look, so Grantaire went on. “I meant that like, keep talking, not that I assumed you were autistic.”

Enjolras narrowed his eyes, but went on anyway.

“And I was, um, having a hard time. With everything that was going on. And that’s what happens sometimes, when I get overwhelmed.”

“Alright,” said Grantaire.

“The thing about the floor is that I prefer to sit on it than to sit at a desk,” said Enjolras. “They feel really rigid to me. But, um, my parents didn’t. Well, they didn’t expect to have a kid like me. They didn’t know what to do with me, and they tried to squeeze it out of me. I wasn’t allowed to sit on the floor as a kid.”

“Holy shit,” said Grantaire. “What the fuck? I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault,” said Enjolras.

“Oh my God, I told you to sit on the floor,” said Grantaire.

“You didn’t know,” said Enjolras.

“I’m sorry anyway. That’s fucked,” said Grantaire.

Grantaire had a pleasantly rough voice. He was very soft once you stopped questioning his every move like Enjolras had been doing before. He was very pleasant to be around. Enjolras wondered if Grantaire was like this with everyone, or if it was just him and Combeferre. He couldn’t imagine Grantaire was this way when he and Bahorel boxed, or even when he and Jehan painted together.

Grantaire took a large bite of a scone. Enjolras knew, objectively, that Grantaire wasn’t attractive in that moment. He didn’t care. He flushed a little bit.

\---

Combeferre woke suddenly at four in the morning to find Enjolras sitting cross-legged at the foot of his bed, peering up at Combeferre like a cat.

“What the hell?” Combeferre said.

“I think I’m in love with Grantaire,” Enjolras said.

“Yeah, I know,” said Combeferre. “Whoopee.”

“You know?” Enjolras sounded surprised.

“I know you better than anyone,” said Combeferre quietly. He was still foggy with sleep. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice if you fell in love?”

“I didn’t even notice,” said Enjolras.

“Mm,” murmured Combeferre. He didn’t think he’d be getting back to sleep tonight.

\---

He wasn’t usually this stressed. To be fair, he was frequently stressed, but this was a new level. It always happened around this time of year - the end of the semester meant final exams, Christmas, and family. He couldn’t control his family, who usually dominated his Christmas plans, meaning he couldn’t spend the holiday with Les Amis. The only thing he could keep a handle on was his exams, and so he would prepare and over prepare until he made himself sick with worry and exhaustion.

“I’m very stressed,” said Enjolras.

“No shit,” said Combeferre. Enjolras was gripping his coffee mug with white knuckles and shaking slightly. He was thinner now than he was in the other months of the year, losing weight quickly once the stress of life tossed his routine into the garbage. Enjolras wanted badly to go back to his usual bedtime and sleep for seven years. Combeferre wanted Enjolras to stop looking like he’d snap in half if a breeze came on too strong. He wanted his fingers to stop looking like they were so thin they might shrivel off. He wanted Enjolras to get some decent rest and relaxation. He wanted December to be easier for Enjolras than it was.

“Do you know what you’re doing for Christmas?” asked Enjolras.

Combeferre leaned back against the counter. “I’m not sure. It depends on what the rest of the Amis are doing.”

Enjolras hummed to himself. He’d love to stay home for Christmas with Combeferre. He’d been so frazzled lately, he and Combeferre hadn’t been hanging out as much as they had before. Combeferre had joined him and Grantaire at the library, which was excellent, but he missed sitting around the dining room table with Combeferre in the evenings. He missed the domesticity of it all. 

“Are you going home for Christmas?” asked Combeferre.

“I think so,” said Enjolras, even though he already knew for sure he was going to stay with his family for Christmas. “I don’t want to go. I’ll probably only go out for the day, or maybe just stay the one night.”

“I’m sorry you have to go see them,” said Combeferre. He knew Enjolras had to go back every once in a while, since they were paying all the university bills. It didn’t put a dent in their savings, but Enjolras felt guilty anyway.

“Hm,” said Enjolras.

Enjolras’s family weren’t horrible people. They would have been great parents if they’d had the child they were expecting, but they didn’t know what to do with an autistic child who didn’t like to follow orders. They hadn’t succeeded in creating a safe and welcoming home, and Enjolras’s mother had drunk a lot, and his father had been occupied with business much of the time, and Enjolras preferred to spend his time away from them. He could love them in memory, but it was difficult in practice.

“I just have to get through exams,” said Enjolras. “Then I won’t have control of anything else, and I can just let it all happen around me. And I can get to sleep on time.”

“You’re going to be great,” said Combeferre. It was true. Enjolras would do very well on his exams.

“I’m nervous about math,” said Enjolras. “Grantaire has been a great help, but I’m just not sure.”

“I think this is the most you’ve ever understood any kind of mathematics and also the most stressed you’ve ever been over a math class.”

“I want to make him proud,” said Enjolras. “I don’t want him to have wasted his time on me.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t consider it time wasted, no matter how you did on the exam,” said Combeferre. “I’m sure he’ll be proud of you, no matter what.”

\---

Enjolras texted Grantaire later that night to inquire about his holiday plans. Grantaire replied that the first night of Hannukah was to fall on Christmas Eve, and that he’d be celebrating by himself in the apartment. Jehan was going home to his grandmother and taking Courfeyrac with him. Enjolras was welcome to join Grantaire if he liked, for any of the days. Enjolras wanted so badly to join him that his heart hurt at the thought of taking the train up north to his parent’s home instead. Maybe he could take a later train, or take the morning train on Christmas. He wanted to share something like that with Grantaire. He’d never celebrated a single Jewish holiday - his parents were the kind of people who thought certain types of Christians weren’t Christian enough, nevermind any other religions - but he wanted to try. He wanted to spend a holiday with someone like Grantaire. Just once, at least.

\---

Combeferre slept in for the first time in a full month on the day of Enjolras’s math final. Enjolras was nervous and jittery, but thought that Combeferre deserved the rest, and refused to wake him. He called Grantaire instead.

“Hello?” Grantaire sounded groggy and tired.

“Hi,” said Enjolras, who had never been more awake in his life. “It’s the day. The day of my final. The final day, if you will.”

“Oh, hey,” said Grantaire. “Jeez, wow. How are you feeling?”

“I’m nervous as fuck,” said Enjolras. He was losing his grip on himself, which mean he was both more blunt and more susceptible to swearing.

“You know the material just as well as I do,” said Grantaire. He was exaggerating, but Grantaire was confident he’d do well on the exam. Enjolras had worked so hard for it.

“Can we get breakfast?” asked Enjolras. “I mean, you know, if you eat that sort of thing.”

Enjolras could practically hear Grantaire shrug. “I’m not usually awake right now, honestly.”

“Oh. Did I wake you up?” Enjolras was already kicking himself for messing up Grantaire’s day.

“Yeah,” said Grantaire. “But I’m glad you did. I know a really great pancake place that won’t have a line.”

\---

They’d gotten a combination booth and table at the restaurant. Those always got on Enjolras’s nerves - that one side was normal seating and the other side of the table had a booth. What was the point of that? It was always so awkward to sit on the regular half of the table, back facing the restaurant. Grantaire was in agreement. In fact, they both agreed so seriously that they had gotten into a brief argument over who had to sit in the normal chairs before giving up and deciding to sit right next to each other in the booth. They sat shoulder to shoulder. The waitress brought them one order of pancakes and they didn’t correct her. They shared.

“I want you to know how thankful I am that you decided to tutor me,” said Enjolras.

“Course,” said Grantaire. “No problem.”

“Really,” said Enjolras. “I was a total wreck.”

“You are a total wreck,” Grantaire thought back to the many times he’d seen Enjolras look disheveled  and dehydrated in the past several weeks.

“I meant in math. I mean that I just, you know, couldn’t get any of it. I couldn’t just push through it. And you helped me.”

“I liked helping you,” shrugged Grantaire. “No biggie.”

“Did you really?” asked Enjolras. “I don’t want you to lie to me just because you don’t want to set me off before the exam.”

“Honestly,” said Grantaire. “I mean, I like math and I like you, so it was good. Perfect system.”

He sounded like he was joking, or maybe being sarcastic. Enjolras knew he wasn’t.

“Oh, you  _ like _ me,” he said, laughing. Grantaire laughed back.

Enjolras took a sip of his tea. His neck felt hot, but he couldn’t place why. It might have been the tea. He really was more of a coffee person.

“Yeah,” said Grantaire. “Guess I do.”

The whole situation felt very schoolboy.  There they were, the two of them, sitting too close together to be at ease, but unable to sit farther apart. Every time one of them reached for the pancakes, their shoulders would shift against each other, and they’d stutter because of it. Enjolras wanted to ask Grantaire something or everything, but he couldn’t figure out how to say any of it. He opened and closed his mouth several times before Grantaire asked about it.

“You good?” asked Grantaire, who looked confused.

“Yeah, I’m just,” said Enjolras, waving his hand around. “I’m just.”

“You’re just?” asked Grantaire. “You’re just. That’s great.”

“I’m just,” Enjolras said again. “I just want to ask you something, I think.”

“Ask away. I’m an open book,” said Grantaire. It was a blatant lie to say that he was an open book in general, but he’d probably tell Enjolras anything he asked.

“I can’t figure out what I want to ask you, exactly,” said Enjolras. “Just something.”

“I’ll be around when you figure it out, I guess,” Grantaire took a sip of tea. Grantaire had very large hands, and since the tea was in a real teacup instead of a mug, they looked even larger.

“That teacup makes you look like a giant,” said Enjolras.Grantaire gave a full belly laugh and showed all his teeth.

“Fee, fi, fo, fum,” Grantaire said.

“I just,” said Enjolras, feeling very warm. “Holy shit.”

Enjolras surged forward and kissed Grantaire. In the middle of a pancake restaurant.  Their teeth hit together, mostly because Grantaire hadn’t been adequately warned and therefore hadn’t had time to prepare his mouth for a kiss. Enjolras had moved with such force that it hurt a little bit, but it was as though he wasn’t in charge of his own person. He didn’t remember deciding to kiss Grantaire. He was looking at his smile one second and kissing him the next.

“Aw,” they heard the waitress say. They broke apart.

“Holy fuck,” said Grantaire. “What the fuck was that?”

Enjolras’s watch beeped. 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” said Enjolras, with feeling. “I have to - that’s my alarm. For my exam. I have to go take my exam.”

“Oh, God,” said Grantaire.

“I’ll pay,” said Enjolras. “I’ll pay for breakfast since I woke you up.”

“You’ll be late if you wait for the check,” said Grantaire. He didn’t sound angry, but he did sound strained.

“Shit,” said Enjolras. “Fuck, shit.”

“It’s okay,” said Grantaire. “We can talk about it later.”

Enjolras knew he meant the kiss, not the bill. It was comforting. He threw a twenty at Grantaire and headed for the door.

“I said I’d pay!” called Grantaire.

“So did I,” Enjolras called back. “Don’t hold me up, I have to go fail my math class.”

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the bad news for combeferre is that enjolras and grantaire are figuring things out without him. the good news for combeferre is that enjolras and grantaire are starting to figure things out, which means that they'll realize they need combeferre soon enough. we're picking up speed!  
> please leave me comments i cherish each and every one! if you want to keep up with me when im not on ao3, or if you just want to hang out, consider following me on tumblr @putoriius !


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somehow, Combeferre was not good at dreidel.
> 
> “It’s a game of chance,” said Grantaire. “And somehow, you still suck at it.”
> 
> “I’m a man of many talents,” said Combeferre placidly. He gave up one of his gelt for the pot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always i wrote this really quickly and didnt even try to edit it, so its total nonsense, please forgive me  
> also, this chapter has a lot of religion stuff in it! theres talk about combeferres christian upbringing, which was a negative experience for him. please know that i dont see Christianity in a negative light and that i wouldnt judge someone based on faith - this is just the specific kind of childhood combeferre had. other than that, its basically all about grantaire and how jewish he is. proceed with caution if talking about religion is difficult for you, which is totally okay

\---

There were a lot of peculiar things going on around Combeferre. The first is that Enjolras decided to leave more than one day early for his parent’s house.

“Are you sure?” asked Combeferre. 

“I’m sure,” said Enjolras.

“You can always come back,” said Combeferre. “Anytime in the holidays, I’ll be around.”

“I know,” said Enjolras. Then he scrambled to pack and left for the train within the half hour.

The second peculiar thing was that the house phone rang. Usually, if the house phone rang, it was because someone was looking for Enjolras, who had just left for his parent’s as though he was fleeing the country. Combeferre picked up the phone.

“‘Lo?” said Combeferre.

“Combeferre,” said Grantaire, sounding surprised. This was the third peculiar thing - Grantaire did not like to call people on the phone.

“Enjolras left for his parent’s house,” said Combeferre.

“Oh. That’s - well, that’s alright,” said Grantaire.

“Can I help you with anything else?” asked Combeferre.

“Um,” said Grantaire. “Do you know how to play dreidel?”

So the fourth peculiar thing happened, which was that Combeferre was going to hang out with Grantaire without Enjolras or anybody else for backup.

\---

Combeferre did not know how to play dreidel.

“It’s really easy,” said Grantaire. The two of them were now cross-legged across from one another on Grantaire’s carpet.

“Okay,” said Combeferre.

“So, the middle is the pot,” said Grantaire, placing several smallish chocolate coins covered in gold foil in between them. “And this is gelt. We take turns spinning the dreidel and it determines what we do with them.”

“Oh,” said Combeferre. “Growing up, I always thought it would be more complicated than this.”

Grantaire shrugged. “I know a lot of gentiles hype up the difficulty or pointlessness, just because you need to recognize some Hebrew letters. And I get it, that can seem kind of daunting if you don’t speak any Hebrew, but it’s like, just four letters. I think you can manage.”

Combeferre was determined to manage. He nodded at Grantaire to go on.

“This one is  _ nun _ ,” Grantaire showed him the first letter. “It means you don’t do anything.”

“Nun means to do nothing,” repeated Combeferre. He liked to employ repetition when he was trying to learn something new.

Grantaire smiled at him. “And this one is called  _ gimmel _ ,” he said.

“I’ve heard of that,” said Combeferre, pleased to know something.

“A lot of people have,” said Grantaire kindly. “It means you take everything out of the pot. I know it looks kind of similar to nun, but you’ll get used to it after a couple rounds.”

Combeferre nodded. “Gimmel means to take everything,” he said.

“Then there’s  _ hei, _ ” said Grantaire. “Which means you take half the pot. The last one is  _ shin,  _ which means you have to put one of your gelt into the pot.”

“Hei takes half the pot, shin puts one in the pot,” repeated Combeferre. “Okay. Let’s play.”

\---

Somehow, Combeferre was not good at dreidel.

“It’s a game of chance,” said Grantaire. “And somehow, you still suck at it.”

“I’m a man of many talents,” said Combeferre placidly. He gave up one of his gelt for the pot.

“Is one of your talents being horrible at dreidel?” asked Grantaire.

“Oh, yes,” said Combeferre seriously. “And when you aren’t around, I’ll be doing some serious training to get even  _ worse _ .”

Grantaire looked delighted. Combeferre was happy to be there to make him look that way.

“I think it’s your fingers,” said Grantaire, looking at Combeferre’s hands intently.

“My what?” asked Combeferre.

“Your fingers,” Grantaire reached for the dreidel. “Your twist is fine, and you move your wrist alright, but I think your fingers get caught near the end.”

“Caught near the end,” said Combeferre. He didn’t know exactly what Grantaire meant, but he liked the way Grantaire got when he was trying to explain something, all pliable and amused.

“See, you flick your fingers, but you don’t let go fast enough,” Grantaire spun the dreidel. “You hold on too long and your fingers get caught, giving you a sub-optimal spin.”

The dreidel spun and spun. Then it slowed and toppled. It landed on gimmel.

Grantaire smiled. “And what does gimmel mean, my Combeferre?”

“Gimmel means you can take everything,” said Combeferre. Grantaire laughed loudly, and then he took everything.

\---

Combeferre celebrated whatever was around him. He’d grown up with Christmas, but his family celebrated in a spiritual way that he hadn’t connected much with. They weren’t huge gift givers or extravagant celebrators.  Christmas had been more about Jesus than family. It was fine, he supposed, but nothing he especially loved. He was often invited to Christmas parties and celebrations. He had once gone to visit Musichetta for Kwanzaa. One year, when Enjolras’s parents had decided to take a cruise for the holidays, Enjolras held a non-denominational holiday celebration, which was very nice. In Grantaire’s apartment, watching him recite his prayers and lighting the first candle on the menorah, Combeferre thought nothing had ever been as nice as this. Nothing had ever been quite as warm and lovely, and he knew already that he wanted to come back for each of the seven remaining nights. He didn’t want to intrude, of course, but he didn’t want to give this up.

\---

Enjolras was having a horrible time at his parent’s place, and it was only made worse by his refusal to call Combeferre and/or Grantaire.

“Just call one of them,” said Feuilly, sounding tinny through the phone.

“That’s exactly what I can’t do,” said Enjolras. “I can’t call him now, because I didn’t call him after my exam, and now it’s been too long.”

“That’s irrational,” said Feuilly. “At least call Combeferre.”

“I’m feeling distressed,” said Enjolras. “This is when I’m allowed to act irrational. I’m getting it out of my system so I won’t have to be irrational anymore.”

Feuilly exhaled a laugh. “Now,  _ that’s _ irrational,” he said.

Enjolras laughed too. He ran a hand through his hair, which was made difficult by the fact that he’d been too stressed and tired to pay much attention to brushing it.

“I need to brush my hair,” said Enjolras.

“I’m sure that’s true, but do you know what else you need to do?” asked Feuilly.

“If the answer is ‘Call Grantaire’, I’m hanging up,” said Enjolras.

“I was going to say to call Combeferre. Now, I think you should call  _ both _ of them, but if you won’t, at least call Combeferre. Tell him you’re alright.”

“He knows I’m alright,” said Enjolras, suddenly feeling childish.

“No, he doesn’t,” said Feuilly. “He knows how you get with your parents, he knows you left early, and he knows you haven’t called him like you normally do when you’re with your parents. He knows that everything is out of the ordinary for you two. What he  _ doesn’t _ know is that you kissed Grantaire, that you’re going crazy over it, and that you aren’t upset with him.”

“I resent your use of the phrase ‘going crazy over it’,” said Enjolras. “And Combeferre has no reason to think I’m upset with Grantaire.”

“When I said  _ him _ , I meant Combeferre,” said Feuilly. “You think he isn’t wondering what he did to get you to drop out of his life like this? Come on.”

“Oh,” said Enjolras. “Oh, shit.”

“Shit is right,” said Feuilly. “I have to go. Abuela is calling for me.”

Enjolras nodded to himself. He was very happy for Feuilly, that he’d found some long lost family after growing up an orphan, but there was a part of him that wished Feuilly was still coming home with Enjolras for the holidays and not spending them with his newfound  _ abuela _ . 

“Of course,” said Enjolras. “Enjoy your holiday.”

“Promise me you’ll call one of them,” said Feuilly.

“Promise,” said Enjolras.

“Good,” said Feuilly. There was a pause where Feuilly shuffled around and gathered himself. “Love you,” he said finally.

Enjolras smiled. He and Feuilly had known each other about as long as he’d known Combeferre, and Feuilly had spent that entire time dipping in and out of his life and struggling to show others his proper emotions. It made Enjolras happy that Feuilly could tell him he loved him.

“I love you too,” said Enjolras.

“Bye,” said Feuilly. He hung up shortly after.

\---

Combeferre kept coming back. Grantaire told him he was welcome to come back, and Combeferre knew Grantaire would have avoided the subject entirely if he didn’t want Combeferre there. The third night, Combeferre and Grantaire were lounging around on the couch. He felt a similar relaxed feeling to the one he’d had a month or two earlier with Jehan and Courfeyrac, sitting on the very same couch.

“Where’s Jehan?” asked Combeferre. “I thought they usually stayed with you for Hanukkah.”

Grantaire shrugged. “They’ve flown off to some magical Christmas-based getaway with Courfeyrac, I suspect.”

Combeferre laughed. “You mean they’re getting drunk in Courfeyrac’s apartment and are going to stay that way for the full week.”

“Jehan brought their soap making materials, so I’m sure they’re doing a little more than getting drunk,” said Grantaire, raising a single eyebrow.

They smiled at each other and sat for a moment. Neither of them felt that they had to fill the silence with chatter. Combeferre was happy - happier than he thought he would be - that Grantaire was trusting him like this.

“Did you grow up Jewish?” asked Combeferre. He was speaking quietly, but only because of the tranquil nature of the night.

“Yeah,” said Grantaire. “Yeah. My mom was Jewish.”

“Not your father?” asked Combeferre.

“Legally speaking,” said Grantaire, shrugging. “He was a convert, for my mom. It’s sort of really hard to convert, but he did it out of love for my mom and less out of actual religious belief.”

“Oh,” said Combeferre.

Grantaire shifted so that he was facing Combeferre more directly.

“I don’t mean - it’s not that, like, converts aren’t real Jews or anything. They are. Once you finish the process, you’re just as Jewish as anybody. I just mean that wasn’t what he was looking for.” said Grantaire.

“How do people treat converts?” asked Combeferre. He thought back to his family, and how some of them thought of new Christians as liars - if you weren’t born into Christianity, you were predisposed to sin - and how some of them thought of new Christians as particularly holy for having come to Christ on their own.

“It depends,” said Grantaire, which is what Combeferre had been expecting. “The general rule is that once you’re converted, you’re a part of the tribe. You’re fully Jewish, right? You don’t even have to tell people that you converted if you don’t want to. I mean, there are some people who think Reform converts don’t count, but I personally think that’s garbage.”

Combeferre had a thousand questions - he  _ always _ had questions, because he wanted to understand everything in the world that there was to understand - but he was having trouble deciding what to ask. He didn’t want to hit too close to home for Grantaire and he didn’t want to say anything that was offensive without  realizing it. Grantaire could tell.

“You can basically say whatever to me,” said Grantaire, meaning that Combeferre could ask him anything. “It’s okay.”

“Hm,” Combeferre hummed. “I - stop me if this isn’t alright, but I’m just wondering. How do you remember all the Hebrew for your prayers? I could never remember the Latin when I was younger, when my parents took me to church.”

“ _ You _ couldn’t remember something?” said Grantaire. “My, my.”

Combeferre had to stop his arm from swatting Grantaire’s shoulder in affection. He felt the urge suddenly, but felt it would be out of character.

“I can’t just remember words,” said Combeferre. He was smiling despite himself. “I feel like I need to really try to learn the language with that kind of thing.”

“Hebrew is my first language,” said Grantaire. “That’s why I remember it all.”

Combeferre raised his eyebrows. “It is?”

Grantaire smiled and nodded. Grantaire had a different smile for every occasion. This smile was soft and nostalgic, and he looked down to hide it. Combeferre wished Grantaire had maintained eye contact.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “My mom - well, she was born here, in America, but she was homeschooled and my grandparents never spoke any English. She didn’t really learn English past a conversational level until she went to college. She raised me in Hebrew.”

“When did you learn English?” asked Combeferre.

“I was homeschooled for a while, but then she had to get a day job, so I started regular school in the third grade. I hardly knew any English before that,” Grantaire said. Combeferre was relieved to find that Grantaire was comfortable talking about this, and even more, that he seemed to enjoy talking about it.

“I worry about losing it, sometimes,” said Grantaire. “I talk to myself and narrate my day in Hebrew sometimes. I don’t get to talk much in it anymore. Jehan knows some, but it’s mostly just biblical Hebrew. I know Marius has dabbled but, let’s be real here. It’s Marius.”

Combeferre nodded. Marius had remarkable linguistic talent and was severely well-meaning, but he and Grantaire had never quite found the appropriate middle ground to meet on. They didn’t mesh very well - Grantaire found him fairly boring, and Marius found Grantaire just rude enough to be off-putting.

“But you want to talk more?” asked Combeferre.

“Yeah,” said Grantaire. It was the first time he’d sounded even close to sad the entire conversation. “It’d be fucking awesome if  _ you  _ could speak it. I know I could go out and find people who speak Hebrew, but you know I don’t play well with others.”

It was true. Grantaire was sweet and lovely once you got him comfortable with you, but the journey there was rocky, especially if there were no mutual friends to fall back on.

Combeferre knew Grantaire was joking when he said he wished Combeferre could speak Hebrew. He knew it wasn’t about him specifically, that it was about wanting to speak it with someone he was already familiar with. He knew that, and yet.

And yet.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is dedicated to bean, who literally posted one comment for every chapter in one sitting and made my entire month. dead serious, i got out of therapy this week, checked my phone, and wow, there they were, those six comments, and i was so, so happy. ty!
> 
> that scene w/ enjolras on the phone is there bc i didnt want you all to think he just dropped off the face of the earth. i wanted this chapter to be more about combeferre, just bc i feel like i havent given him an appropriate amount of love, so the phone call and enjolras + grantaire talking things out will be in the next chapter. stay tuned!
> 
> if you wanna hang out w/ me when im not on ao3, im on tumblr @putoriius !
> 
> and as always, please leave a comment! i love them all!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m not asking you to marry me, you know.”
> 
> Grantaire’s eyes snapped open. “Oh, God.”
> 
> “I said I’m not asking you to marry me,” Enjolras rolled his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dont know whats happening in this chapter! i mean i never know, but i extra dont know this time because i wrote it out of order. hopefully it reads fine? i really cant tell. writing is weird because i have it all playing like a film in my head and im trying my best to transcribe it without losing too much, but im sort of just looking like that image of charlie from iasip where he's desperately trying to explain some complicated nonsense.

Enjolras received a copy of  _ The Communist Manifesto _ for Christmas. It was an effort by his parents to engage with his interests, which they knew to be focused around politics and history. The gift was meant to be a combination of the two. It theory, it was very sweet, but they’d gotten him the same thing in the exact same edition two years earlier. Enjolras gave his father a set of solid kitchen knives and his mother a copy of  _ The Tempest _ by William Shakespeare. Both gifts were received warmly - Enjolras, too, had tried and failed to find something for his family that fit their interests. It was a near thing - they were all trying to fit a square shaped peg into a circle shaped hole, and none of them knew enough about the others to do it properly. Enjolras didn’t know why his mother wanted him home every Christmas if they were just going to do this over and over again.

\---

He knew Combeferre would be more likely to pick up if he called his phone, but Enjolras missed his face. He missed the birth mark that took up much of his cheek and under eye. He missed his freckles. It was irrational to think he could catch a train this late at night and be able to see Combeferre in person, so he settled and called him on Skype. Combeferre picked up quickly.

“I’m not disturbing you, am I?” asked Enjolras. Combeferre had picked up so quickly that Enjolras thought he must have been working on something at the computer.

“No, that’s alright. I was doing some, uh, preliminary research. Nothing with a deadline,” said Combeferre. There was a beat. “How are your parents?”

“The same. They got me the Manifesto again,” said Enjolras. Combeferre laughed, but it was sympathetic.

“They’re in the ballpark, at least,” he said.

Enjolras scratched his forehead. “At least,” he said. “Anyway, I think I’m getting the train tomorrow.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I’ll probably be back before evening. Afternoon, maybe, if I get out early enough,” said Enjolras.

“That’s great,” said Combeferre. “I’ve missed having you around.”

Through the distortion of the webcam and laptop screen, Enjolras couldn’t see Combeferre’s freckles as well as he’d wanted to. They were his favorite part of Combeferre’s face, and here they were, becoming muddy and bleeding into the rest of him without proper focus. Even so, Enjolras looked at them and felt fond, and suddenly he wanted to go home even more.

“By the way, I didn’t leave early because of anything you did,” said Enjolras, ignoring how homesick he felt.

“I know,” said Combeferre lightly.

“I left because of Grantaire,” said Enjolras.

“Now, see, I didn’t know that,” said Combeferre.

Enjolras fidgeted. “Not his fault. I kissed him and then decided to get out of town to think about it.”

“Oh,” said Combeferre. “Have you talked to him since?”

“No,” said Enjolras. He felt like scratching his neck just to have something to do with his hands. “I was thinking I’d want to talk to him in person.”

Combeferre’s lips quirked up slightly. “Are you thinking of making a move?” he asked.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “That sounds so middle school. I was thinking about it, and I was thinking I could just ask him about how he felt and then work it from there.”

“That’s a good idea,” said Combeferre. “He might not be ready for something more than what there is right now.”

“I know. I don’t think we’re in a place to  _ do _ anything, but I don’t think we can ignore it,” said Enjolras.

“That’s very mature of you,” said Combeferre. If Enjolras had been looking at Combeferre’s face in real life, he would have seen the twinkle in his eye. As it was, Enjolras could hear it in Combeferre’s voice.

“Tell me how your holiday was,” said Enjolras. “Which of our friends roped you into their celebrations?”

“It was Grantaire this year,” said Combeferre. “It was lovely. I hope you can come next year.”

Enjolras didn’t mention it, but he noticed that Combeferre was already planning for next year. He had never known Combeferre to think that way about the holidays. He had never known Combeferre to want any certain holiday with any consistency.

“I wish I had been there this year,” said Enjolras. “Did you know I’ve got an Aunt Muriel? I didn’t.”

Combeferre laughed. Enjolras wanted to go home all over again.

\---

Arriving back in the city, Enjolras lugged his suitcase to Grantaire’s apartment. He was sweaty and tired despite the cold by the time he arrived, and had to stop to catch his breath at the landing. As he raised his fist to knock, the door swung open.

“Um,” said Enjolras. “Is Grantaire in?”

Jehan looked amused. “Gosh, I’m not sure. Can I take a message, just in case?”

Enjolras narrowed his eyes. “You couldn’t check?”

“I could, but I’d really like to hear what has you running here from the station,” Jehan looked meaningfully at Enjolras’s suitcase and then up at his cheeks, flushed with cold and exertion. 

“Everything’s fine,” said Enjolras.

“I never said it wasn’t,” said Jehan.

They stood apart from each other for a beat - Enjolras wouldn’t compare it to a standoff, necessarily, but he  _ was _ feeling somewhat dramatic.

Grantaire came to the door when he noticed the cold air seeping in past Jehan.

“What’re you doing?” he called, walking towards the door. “It’s  _ freezing _ , why do you have the door open - oh. You’re back.”

Enjolras and Grantaire made eye contact. When it seemed as though no one was going to make any sudden moves, Jehan urged them both inside and to the couch.

“I’m just going to pop down to that new market a block over,” said Jehan innocently. “I’m told they have an excellent spice collection.”

“Half of our cabinets are already full of spices,” said Grantaire.

“That won’t stop me from buying more,” said Jehan curtly. They turned on their heel and left. Neither Enjolras nor Grantaire heard the door shut.

“How was your exam?” asked Grantaire. He didn’t sound angry with Enjolras, so Enjolras relaxed into his voice.

“It was fine,” he said. “God, it really - you prepared me very well. I was more stressed than I needed to be.”

“I know,” Grantaire smiled.

“I wanted to talk to you. About the pancakes.”

“I know some people say they’re a little doughy, but I think the syrup they use is well worth it,” said Grantaire. Enjolras resisted the urge to hold his head in his hands. Grantaire had taken him  _ literally _ .

“That isn’t what I meant,” he said. “I meant the kiss. I wanted to talk to you about how I kissed you.”

“Oh,” Grantaire’s eyes widened. “Oh.”

“It was rude of me,” Enjolras said quickly. “I didn’t even ask you if it was alright. I ran out on you.”

“To be fair, you had to take an exam,” Grantaire pointed out. “I wouldn’t hold that running out thing against you.”

“I didn’t get express consent,” said Enjolras. 

This was stupid, he was starting to think. He couldn’t remember why he’d thought it would be a good idea to come straight here instead of going home. He couldn’t remember why he’d wanted to come to see Grantaire in person instead of calling him from the safety of his own apartment from under a large blanket fort.

“Yeah, that was a dick move on your part,” said Grantaire.

Enjolras was starting to feel unpleasantly hot. “I’m sorry for that,” he said.

“It’s okay,” said Grantaire. He said it in a way that indicated he didn’t feel altogether okay about it.

“Are you sure?” asked Enjolras.

“Yeah,” said Grantaire. “We can just forget the whole thing.”

“I don’t want to,” said Enjolras. “I want to remember it. I’m very committed to remembering it. I’ve been replaying it, and now I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. I don’t think we can ignore it.”

“I’m, like, really good at ignoring stuff,” said Grantaire. “I could teach you that, too.”

“For god’s sake,” Enjolras ran a hand through his hair. He’d brushed it since the last time he’d tried and it slid through easily. “Grantaire, do you want to remember it?”

“Who cares what I want?” said Grantaire.

“ _ I _ do,” said Enjolras. He was feeling very stressed, like he’d have to reorganize his bookshelf when he got home.

“You shouldn’t,” said Grantaire.

“Why?” asked Enjolras. “Why shouldn’t I care how you, my  _ friend _ , feel about this? Really, tell me why I shouldn’t care what you think or how you feel about this, this thing that affects the both of us? This is a matter of personal autonomy, Grantaire. I didn’t get your consent the first time, and I’m not trying to make the same mistake again.”

“I think the phrase ‘personal autonomy’ has a more political connotation than how you meant it in this context,” said Grantaire. “But consider my consent given for whatever the hell you’re talking about.”

Enjolras rubbed his chin. “Consent doesn’t count if you don’t know what you’re agreeing to. By definition, actually, that isn’t consent. That’s blind agreement.”

“Define ‘don’t know’,” said Grantaire. “Psych experiments require consent before proceeding, but many of them hinge or the blindness of participants.”

“That’s very different,” said Enjolras. “In those cases, the information withheld is minimal and divulged during the debriefing. The field of psychology has its own working definition of the word ‘consent’ that I’m not sure is the same as the definition used for relationships.”

“Not all studies have followed those rules, anyway,” said Grantaire.

“Those studies are unethical,” said Enjolras, feeling irritated that Grantaire was trying so hard to change the subject.

“That doesn’t stop anyone,”said Grantaire.

“It stops me!” Enjolras was feeling exasperated. “It stops me, and I need your consent, and I need us to actually talk in plain terms about what is happening here, because I’m no good at metaphors.”

Grantaire was wide-eyed. He hadn’t anticipated that Enjolras would react like that.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ll take this seriously.”

Enjolras felt himself exhale. “Thank you,” he said. “Would you  _ please _ tell me how you felt about the whole situation?”

Grantaire shifted his weight. “I don’t know. I mean, I was surprised. I was really surprised. I think you were, um. I think you were acting on adrenaline.”

“Adrenaline?” asked Enjolras.

“Yeah, like,” Grantaire shifted again. He hated talking about this stuff. “You were all hopped up because of the test, and I helped you with it, so. Misplaced energy.”

“Hm. See, I thought about that, and then I spent a full week away from you post-final and all I could do was think about how much I wanted to come back.”

“You hate going home for the holidays,” scoffed Grantaire. “Of course you wanted to get back.”

“That’s true,” Enjolras conceded. “I wanted to leave them and come back to where everything was familiar and safe, and I wanted badly to see Combeferre and the apartment again, but I also really, really, wanted to see you again. I didn’t miss tutoring - I know you love it, but math is horrible - I missed  _ you _ .”

Grantaire shut his eyes very tight and exhaled. “That is some compelling evidence,” he said.

“I do try,” said Enjolras. “I’m not asking you to marry me, you know.”

Grantaire’s eyes snapped open. “Oh, God.”

“I said I’m  _ not _ asking you to marry me,” Enjolras rolled his eyes. “I’m asking you to be honest with me.”

“Well, you know I hate being honest about my feelings,” said Grantaire.

Enjolras shook his head in affection. “Let’s say you believe me. You know, that I wasn’t just running on adrenaline. And, just for the hypothetical, let’s say I got the appropriate verbal consent.  How would you feel about the kiss?”

“Well,” Grantaire felt like he was just on the edge of a blush. “I’d feel alright about it, then.”

“Alright about it?” Enjolras probed.

“Yeah, I’d - I mean, I’d be in favor of it. I’d be pro-kiss. That kiss. I’m saying I’d be okay with it if you wanted to kiss me.”

Enjolras nodded. “Just okay?”

“Maybe a little more than okay,” said Grantaire. He was no longer just on the edge of a blush. “I wish you’d warned me first, but. It was an okay thing to do.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask first. I just really wanted to kiss you. I didn’t even think about what I was doing, to be honest. I don’t remember thinking about it. I remember looking at your smile and then I remember kissing you,” said Enjolras. Grantaire briefly looked like he was choking, and then returned to normal.

“Um,” Grantaire twiddled his thumbs. “Not to be that guy, but like, what are we?”

Enjolras laughed. “I don’t think we need to rush into any labels. We can just sort of feel it out, if you like. If we need a label later, we can find one, but for now let’s just proceed as normal to get our heads on straight. Is that okay?”

Grantaire looked significantly more relaxed. “Yes,” he said. “That sounds good.”

\---

When Enjolras came back home, he found Combeferre at the kitchen table surrounded by books. He was leaning down at his laptop, so close that he had his glasses pushed up on the top of his head and was squinting at the screen. He, like both Grantaire and Enjolras, frequently became consumed with his work, and did not notice when Enjolras came in. Enjolras liked to watch Combeferre work - he was so cleanly focused - but he had missed him so much that he didn’t want to wait to talk to him.

“Finals are over, you know,” said Enjolras. Combeferre looked up at him.

“You’re back,” said Combeferre. He got up to hug Enjolras, which both of them desperately needed.

They hugged each other tightly for a moment, and then Enjolras pulled away, just far enough to peer behind Combeferre and look at the table. They still held on to one another.

“What’s all this?” asked Enjolras.

Combeferre looked sheepish. “Right. Did you know that English isn’t Grantaire’s first language?”

“It isn’t?” Enjolras raised his eyebrows.

“It’s Hebrew,” said Combeferre. “He didn’t really learn English until he was in the third grade.”

“That’s impressive,” said Enjolras. The edges of his lips were quirking up. “Are you trying to learn Hebrew?”

Combeferre pulled his hands away to rub the back of his neck. “He said he hardly uses it anymore. He said he misses it.”

“You’re trying to learn Hebrew,” said Enjolras.

“He was saying that he sometimes talks to himself and narrated his day in Hebrew because he’s scared of losing it. He - and I know he was joking - but he said he wished I could speak it. Just do he’d have someone familiar to talk to.”

Enjolras couldn’t describe how he was feeling - he couldn’t even identify it. Combeferre hadn’t tried to learn Italian for Eponine back when they’d been dating, but maybe that was because Eponine had Gavroche to talk to, or that she had been raised bilingual and Grantaire hadn’t. Maybe Grantaire was just that special.

Enjolras blushed a little. Grantaire  _ was _ that special.

“Okay,” said Enjolras, gesturing to the mess on the table. “Help me learn the alphabet.”

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whats this about some of you stopping yourselves from commenting? nonsense! some of you have commented or messaged me on tumblr saying that you hold back from commenting in case its too much and bothers me or something and i just have to say that there has never been a sillier thing to worry about. comments make my day. they make my weeks! i go back and read them when im feeling sad! comment all you want! comment more than enough! i wont ever be annoyed, ill just cherish them all.  
> if you want to get in touch with me when im not on ao3, or if you just wanna hang out, follow me on tumblr @putoriius !


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Honey,” said Jehan. “You need to stop this.”
> 
> Combeferre paused, his hands halfway through making tea. “I was under the impression that you wanted me to make you tea. I recall you asking.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we have officially reached the part in the fic where i dont really remember whats going on or what i had planned!! its all fair game now!!  
> no, really, you get into this pickle as a writer where you have it all in your head and sometimes you cant remember what things you already put out or what things youve developed and i dont want to read what ive written so who cares!  
> last time i posted a chapter i woke up the next morning to six (6!!!!!) comments and it made my entire life. wow. you guys really spoil me.

“Honey,” said Jehan. “You need to stop this.”

Combeferre paused, his hands halfway through making tea. “I was under the impression that you  _ wanted _ me to make you tea. I recall you asking.”

Jehan huffed. “I did. Thank you very much, it really is sweet of you to make me tea. I meant that the little ballet you’re performing with Grantaire and Enjolras, though gorgeous and phenomenally orchestrated, is tiresome.”

“I have two left feet,” said Combeferre, confused.

“Yes, you do,” said Jehan. They pursed their lips. “Your emotional capacity is boundless, but it possesses the two left feet of young Willard Hewitt.”

“You aren’t endearing yourself to me.”

“Should I try harder?”

“Well, I’m the one making your tea, so,” said Combeferre. He wasn’t upset. He  _ was _ still confused.

“My darling,” said Jehan, taking Combeferre’s hands. They held them lightly, like they might have been opposites in a romantic comedy. “This is  _ pitiful _ .”

“I can’t make you tea if you hold my hands like that,” said Combeferre. 

Jehan shut their eyes in the drama of the moment. “The tea can wait, Combeferre. I can handle it. We need to talk about your future.”

Combeferre huffed. “You sound like you’re going to give me a promotion. Or like you’re going to ask me to play football for your university.”

Jehan tipped back in surprise. “Did you play football?”

“Rugby. What are you talking about?” asked Combeferre.

“Ah! Yes, the tragic nature of your love life. I believe that if I don’t step in now, it will reach Shakespearean levels of tragedy,” Jehan spoke seriously.

“I seriously doubt that whatever you think is going on in my love life will result in a series of deaths that take up most of the cast,” said Combeferre.

Jehan placed a hand over their heart. “I have never been more in love with you than I am in this moment.”

“I’ve never been more confused than I am in this moment, which is saying something, because people are constantly saying vague and cryptic things around me,” said Combeferre.

“Babe,” said Jehan. “I need you to notice that you’re in love with Grantaire and Enjolras.”

Combeferre suddenly felt cold and pale. “Excuse me?”

“I think it’s killing all of you,” said Jehan. “Because I think Grantaire knows he likes you, but he doesn’t think you would like him  _ and _ he doesn’t want to seem like he’s trying to come between you and Enjolras. You saw how oblivious Enjolras was to Grantaire at first, I’m sure he’s been misidentifying his undying love for you as being some pretty intense friendship, and since  _ you _ don’t even realize it, you can’t be the voice of reason you normally are, which means  _ I _ have to be the voice of reason. I am Aphrodite, and I simply  _ must _ intervene at this juncture.”

“That’s insane,” said Combeferre.

“Enjolras would say he resents your usage of the word ‘insane’,” said Jehan.

“Enjolras would have a lot to say about this entire conversation,” said Combeferre.

Jehan reached up to brush at Combeferre’s hair. Combeferre, being slightly over a foot and a half taller than Jehan, had to bend down to accommodate this.

“You spent all of Hannukah with him,” said Jehan. “You’re learning his native language just so he’ll have someone to talk to. I don’t recall you doing that for Eponine.”

“Technically, English and Italian are  _ both _ Eponine’s native language,” said Combeferre. It was a weak argument, but he felt he needed to point it out.

“You blush if I talk about him for too long,” said Jehan. “ _ Either _ of them. These are the most obvious crushes I’ve ever seen in all my years, and I’m a classics major.”

It was true. Combeferre had been fighting his best to tamp it down, but a blush was blossoming under his collar despite his efforts.

“Let us say,” said Combeferre, ever the diplomat. “That I concede, and admit to my - my  _ crush _ , if you must call it that - on Grantaire. What evidence have you for Enjolras?”

Jehan clapped their hands together. “My, what evidence  _ don’t _ I have? You would do anything for him. Anything at all. You do him all sorts of favors, helping him at meetings and with assignments, helping him with Grantaire even though  _ you’re in love with the both of them _ , you make him breakfast and coffee, or tea if he’s in the mood-”

“I was making  _ you _ tea, just a moment ago. I’d have finished if it weren’t for this conversation,” said Combeferre.

“But you make  _ him _ tea without being asked. You can tell when he’s in the mood. You do it as a part of your routine. You do all of your homework at the kitchen table just to spend some time around him, even if you aren’t talking. Can you - and please answer me honestly - can you think of even one thing you wouldn’t do for him if he asked?”

Combeferre thought about it for a moment. He was embarrassed - he didn’t want to have to think about it. There was surely something he wouldn’t do. Something that was just too much.

He opened his mouth to speak. Jehan put their index finger up to pause him.

“I am not counting things that are illegal,” said Jehan.

Combeferre flushed. “Actually, I can think of a few things I’d do that  _ are _ illegal.”

“Mhm,” hummed Jehan. “There’s your evidence.”

Combeferre leaned up against the counter. If he was being honest with himself, this was not new information. He’d known this for a while. He just didn’t want to give it any attention - it wouldn’t grow any, that way.

“Alright,” he said. “Alright. You’ve gotten through to me. Can I finish making your tea now?”

“Fine,” said Jehan. “And then Courfeyrac and I will help you come up with a gameplan.”

“A  _ what? _ ” asked Combeferre. He’d left the kettle for so long that he had to warm the water up again.

“Did you think I called you to his apartment for fun and merry amusements?” asked Jehan, their hands planted firmly on their hips.

“Yes, I did,” said Combeferre. “That’s usually why you call me places.”

“Not this time,” Jehan shook their head. “Courfeyrac should be arriving with the supplies any moment now.”

“What supplies? What could you possibly need supplies for in this situation?” asked Combeferre.

Jehan rolled their eyes. “Oh, please. How uninspired  _ are _ you?”

\---

When Combeferre arrived home that night, Enjolras was sitting cross-legged in a very large bean bag chair.

“How was your day?” asked Combeferre, eyeing the chair with some suspicion. He didn’t remember it being there when he’d left that morning.

“Very productive,” said Enjolras. “I’ve spent most of it breaking down how we should learn Hebrew. I spent some time drawing up this nice chart for how we should spend our spare time practicing, but as far as actual learning goes, I was thinking we could start with the very basics. You know, learn how to say stuff like ‘apple’ and ‘milk’, and then colors and days of the week. That kind of thing. I think we should do the sticky note method, too.”

“Sticky notes?” asked Combeferre.

“Yes!” Enjolras was quickly getting more and more excited. He loved planning things. “You know, where we find out the Hebrew word for things around the house and write it on a sticky note to stick on that thing.”

Combeferre noticed Enjolras’s eyes darting between Combeferre and the kitchen door.

“Did you happen to already do that to the kitchen?” asked Combeferre, feeling amused.

“Maybe,” Enjolras looked sheepish. “I wanted you to be here to write most of them, so we could learn together, but I wanted to give it a test run.”

“How is it?” asked Combeferre.

“I think שרותים means refridgerator,” said Enjolras, scratching his head. “But I’m not sure. I think it will be effective if we look at it every day.”

“You’re right,” said Combeferre. “We can do the living room next.”

Enjolras smiled, and then straightened himself out. “Though, this means we won’t be able to have Grantaire around for a while.”

Combeferre cocked his head. Grantaire wasn’t frequently, if  _ ever _ , at their apartment. They kept showing up at his.

“Why is that?” asked Combeferre.

Enjolras blushed. “Well, I want it to be a surprise. Obviously we wouldn’t be waiting until we were  _ fluent _ , that would take ages and fluency is subjective. I just, you know, want to be conversational before he finds out. As a nice surprise.”

Combeferre thought it over. “I think we can manage. He doesn’t come around often.”

“I know. I was thinking we should fix that, but I suppose it can wait until I can ask him how his day was in Hebrew,” said Enjolras.

“Okay, I have to ask,” Combeferre gestured to the bean bag chair. “Have we always had that thing?”

Enjolras laughed. “No, no. I bought it today. Grantaire suggested it, actually - some middle ground between sitting in a chair and sitting on the floor.”

Combeferre smiled. God, the  _ both _ of them, honestly. He didn’t know how he was going to go on, being their friends and caring for them so sharply.

\---

Classes started up in January without fuss. They had all become soft and well-rested over their break, and believed themselves to be ready for the coming semester. They all went willingly. They all held strong regrets the first week in.

“Why would I think I could  _ do _ this?” Combeferre asked.

“Probably because you can,” said Grantaire, chewing on a pen. They had, without question, resumed their regular study meetings.

“Oh, god,” said Combeferre, holding his head in his hands. “This is  _ hard _ .”

“Shit, man, that’s what happens when you take anatomy and physiology,” Grantaire laughed.

“I know I’m trying to be some kind of a med student,” said Combeferre. “But who do I think I am, studying the integumentary system?”

“What the hell is that?” asked Enjolras. He’d been doing his level best to ignore them in favor of his Italian history paper, but he’d never heard that word before.

“ The integumentary system is the organ system that protects the body from various kinds of damage. It is comprised of the skin and its appendages, such as hair, or hooves. I mean, nails,” Combeferre said. “And I hate it.”

“Aw, you don’t mean that,” said Grantaire. “Think of how nice your skin has been to you. It’s been there through thick and through thin.”

Enjolras stifled a laugh, seeing how stern Combeferre suddenly looked. Enjolras had been there in the eighth grade, when Combeferre was mostly comprised of acne and only partially comprised of himself. Enjolras knew that it wasn’t any big deal to have acne - it’s all very natural and hormones are wild, it’s just another thing the media over exaggerates the importance of - but Combeferre had always been self-concious of it, even years after his skin forgave him for going through puberty and cleared up.

“Yes,” said Combeferre. “My skin has always been very nice to me. It was  _ especially _ kind in the eighth grade.”

Grantaire looked at Combeferre head on. “I mean it,” Grantaire said. “You have a great complexion.”

“Lovely freckles,” said Enjolras.

“ _ Yes _ ,” said Grantaire. “Absolutely. I’d love to - hey, can I draw you?”

“What?” asked Combeferre.

“Can I draw you? I want to wait a bit, until you get back to work so it’ll look more natural, but can I? You can have it after, and then you can burn it or turn it into a paper airplane, or whatever you like.”

Combeferre was taken aback. His first thought was  _ yes of course you don’t have to ask you could have just drawn me if you’d wanted _ followed shortly by  _ how could I ever burn something you drew for me _ . He hesitated in answering, though, only because he wasn’t sure he could take it, knowing that Grantaire was going to be sitting just across from him and watching him intently.

“Sure,” said Combeferre, trying very hard to sound casual. “Of course you can draw me.”

“Excellent,” said Grantaire. He smiled, and this time, he bared his teeth.

Combeferre took a gulp of coffee and settled in. He hoped he’d be able to get some work done.

\---

He had not been able to get  _ any _ work done. Even better, he was sure Grantaire had noticed his lack of work because Grantaire had been drawing Combeferre, and drawing from life required an awful lot of  _ looking _ . He’d noticed Enjolras hadn’t gotten much of anything done as well, deciding to watch Grantaire draw Combeferre. Neither of them had seen the finished work yet.

“Here,” Grantaire had said, pressing the folded drawing into Combeferre’s hand. “Neither of you can look at that until you get home. I don’t want you to fake your reactions for me.”

“I’m sure we’ll both love it,” said Combeferre seriously.

“Do it anyway,” said Grantaire.

Combeferre tried not to think about how he could still remember the way it felt for Grantaire to press the drawing into his hand, even fifteen minutes after it happened, even after his hands were numb with January cold.

“So,” said Enjolras, voice muffled as it came up over his scarf. “What was that back there? Are you alright?”

Combeferre glanced down at him. He liked walking home with Enjolras, mostly because Enjolras had an intense dislike for the cold, and often appeared to be twice his normal stature when properly bundled up.

“What do you mean?” asked Combeferre.

“When he asked if he could draw you, you sounded off when you answered. Strained, maybe? I don’t know,” Enjolras kicked a rock as they passed. “I’m not very good at identifying that kind of thing.”

“You do very well,” Combeferre said, putting a hand on Enjolras’s shoulder. “I was somewhat preoccupied, I suppose.”

“With what?” asked Enjolras.

“Whatnot,” said Combeferre.

“Like the integumentary system?” asked Enjolras.

“Something like that,” said Combeferre.

“‘Ferre,” said Enjolras, stopping suddenly in the middle of the sidewalk. 

Combeferre’s eyes widened. Enjolras rarely called him that anymore. It was a vestige of childhood.

“Enjolras,” he said.

“You can tell me anything, you know that? You could say anything to me and I’d find a way to make it work. Anything at all. You could tell me you had started voting Republican, or that you didn’t vote at all last year, and I wouldn’t think any different of you. I’d just want to find out why,” said Enjolras.

Combeferre huffed. “You’d think a little different of me, if I hadn’t voted. You love voting.”

“Okay,” said Enjolras. “I’d think a little different of you, but only because I know  _ you _ like voting and it would be out of character for you to forgo it. But you know what I mean. You could tell me if there was something going on.”

Combeferre looked up at the sky, completely pitch. Sometimes he was sad to live in the city, where he couldn’t make out the stars due to the lights. Sometimes he was glad - the lights made the sky look darker, sometimes, because it seemed like there was nothing in it. He liked to look up into the dark when it was snowing, and it was now, and watch puffy white flakes fall out of nowhere. It was hypnotising, watching them fall.

“I like him,” he said. “I like Grantaire, and I could hardly take the idea of just sitting there while he was watching me, because I  _ like him _ .”

“Oh, god,” said Enjolras. “In, like, a romantic sort of way?”

Combeferre exhaled. He could see his own breath.

“Yeah,” he said. “In a romantic sort of way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i might have pushed this too fast, but really, it was about time combeferre had his moment. here it is.  
> i really dont know whats going to happen next. we're officially in no mans land.  
> if you want to get in touch when im not on ao3, or if you just wanna hang out, follow me on tumblr @putoriius !  
> as always, please leave a comment! i sometimes send them to my friends just to gush about how much i love you all. ive been known to reread them when im feeling low! i appreciate them all!!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jehan looked back at Courfeyrac, still floor-ridden. “He didn’t do it, Courf.”
> 
> “That bastard,” said Courfeyrac. “After we used up all our supplies.”
> 
> “What the fuck,” said Grantaire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi this chapter doesnt make any sense and im sorry about that but i didnt really feel like rewriting it. i had a really hard few days with my mom, which is a chronic problem, and im not really in the mood for anything.  
> if you need a reminder about whats happening:  
> \- enjolras has figured out that he likes grantaire, and theyve kissed  
> \- combeferre has figured out that he likes both grantaire and enjolras and, at the end of the last chapter, admitted to liking grantaire, but not enjolras  
> \- grantaire has figured out that he likes enjolras, and does not know that combeferre likes him.  
> \- jehan and courfeyrac came up with a plan to get them all together, using their supplies offscreen with combeferre. combeferre has done nothing at all with this.  
> \- as we last left them, grantaire had drawn a picture, given it to combeferre, and they parted ways. the last scene was combeferre and enjolras's walk home, which was somewhat tense.

Grantaire, living in the other direction, did not walk home with Enjolras and Combeferre. As a result, he was blissfully unaware of the sudden strain on their friendship. Unfortunately, having missed the conversation which caused the strain in the first place, he was  _ also _ unaware of Combeferre’s admission of love. He walked home at a steady, happy pace, and felt more at home in his own body than he had in many years. It was a perk of having friends - they couldn’t fix your mental illness, but they could ease the pain.

When he arrived home, Jehan and Courfeyrac were doing yoga in the living room.

“You’re back!” said Jehan. They were upside down in a backbend, face flushed. Courfeyrac was too, but was unable to get his bridge as high and Jehan’s.

“I’m back,” said Grantaire. Jehan unwound themselves.

“How was your day?” asked Jehan brightly. Courfeyrac dropped to the ground behind them, exhaling sharply as he hit the ground.

“It was alright,” said Grantaire, peering lightly as Courfeyrac’s form.

“Just alright?” asked Jehan. “Did anyone say anything to you? Anything especially interesting?”

“Many people said many things to me,” said Grantaire. “Such is the hazard of being social in a public place.”

“Nothing of a sensitive matter? Nothing life changing?” asked Jehan, leaning into Grantaire’s space.

“Not that I recall,” said Grantaire. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Jehan looked back at Courfeyrac, still floor-ridden. “He didn’t do it, Courf.”

“That bastard,” said Courfeyrac. “After we used up all our supplies.”

“What the fuck,” said Grantaire. Jehan waved their hand lightly.

“It isn’t of your immediate concern, Grantaire,” they said. “Though I have to admit I had hoped it would be.”

“I have to repeat: what the  _ fuck _ ,” said Grantaire.

“You know me, caught in my whims,” said Jehan. “Come, join us.”

Grantaire sighed and rolled his shoulders back. “Can I put some sweatpants on first?”

\---

Grantaire was frustratingly good at everything, Courfeyrac thought. Jehan knew, because they had known Grantaire for forever, that this was because Grantaire had some pretty serious ADHD, which turned itself into some pretty serious hyperfocusing. The way it manifested in Grantaire was very useful - it meant he could learn basically anything in the world, so long as he wanted to learn it at the time, and at the cost of being able to do very little else. Hyperfocusing was, in part, responsible for the lack of focus on his studies and ultimately poor grades in high school. It was also responsible for Grantaire’s remarkable abilities in mathematics, his ability to speak French and Bulgarian at reasonable levels of fluency, and the portfolio he ended up using to apply to university with. He had two: one he had spent several months working on and one he had shelled out within the week, overcome with a sudden and unparalleled drive to  _ paint _ . He applied with the latter. It was more frenzied work, but he was very, very talented.

Jehan found his accumulation of talents endearing. Courfeyrac found it frustrating. It wasn’t fair that one man could be good at so many things. Rather, it wasn’t fair that Courfeyrac just wasn’t as good at yoga as Grantaire.

Grantaire fell into Camel Pose with ease. Courfeyrac huffed. His back cracked on the way down.

“My, my,” said Jehan. “Aren’t the two of you looking lovely?”

Courfeyrac looked wheezy and Grantaire looked nearly comical with his stature folded over like that, but Jehan had always been an eccentric collector of eccentric things.

“I’m dying,” said Courfeyrac. It came out as mostly air.

“Don’t push yourself, darling,” said Jehan. “Yoga is more strenuous than most people give it credit for. You can stop whenever you like.”

Courfeyrac stopped. He lay on the floor for a brief moment, and then went to the kitchen in search of water. Grantaire unwound himself.

“So, who’s moving in with who?” he said.

“I’m practically scandalized,” said Jehan, fanning themselves. “Whatever do you mean?”

“If I know one thing about you,” said Grantaire. “It’s that you love lazy morning sex. The logistics work out much better if you guys live together.”

“Mhm,” Jehan sat cross-legged across from Grantaire. “That all depends on the way my plan works out.”

“Plan?” asked Grantaire. He was usually involved in Jehan’s plans one way or another and couldn’t think of any heists they had recently discussed.

“Oh, yes. The pieces are in motion. Though, I fear I should have checked something first,” said Jehan.

“And what’s that?” asked Grantaire.

“Not important. On a totally unrelated note, how was your day with Enjolras and Combeferre?” asked Jehan.

Grantaire felt himself flush slightly, but it was small enough that he could blame it on the exercise. “Alright. I drew them.”

“Can I see?” asked Jehan. 

“I gave it to them,” said Grantaire. “I told them not to open it until they got home.”

“Why?” asked Jehan. They were practically buzzing with excitement. Everything would be so much easier if Grantaire gave it a nudge along.

“I didn’t want them to fake it if they didn’t like it,” said Grantaire. “But I’d already promised they could see it.”

Jehan deflated. Of course. They knew it was a long shot for Grantaire to admit to feelings in a  _ love note _ , but they had held out hope. Instead, it was Grantaire’s troubling self-esteem, back to cause trouble and take names.

“Oh, R,” said Jehan, brushing a curl behind Grantaire’s ear. “You know they’ll love it. We all love your work. It’s excellent. They don’t let just anyone into the art program here, you know.”

Grantaire snorted. “You say that, and yet, the kid next to me in my life drawing class sketches like he’s never even seen a fucking pencil.”

“Grantaire,” said Jehan kindly. “Do you remember when you gave me that lovely painting of myself and Aphrodite? It was very Baroque.”

“I remember,” said Grantaire.

“Do you remember how I cried because I was so delighted and in love with it? And how I hung it in my room? And how I’ve been known to gaze fondly at it, even now?”

“You gaze at my painting?” asked Grantaire, eyes growing wide.

“You’re very talented,” said Jehan.

“Thanks. I’m - thanks. But listen, I think I have to talk to you about something,” said Grantaire.

“What is it?” asked Jehan. “Should I make Courfeyrac leave?”

“What?” asked Courfeyrac, returning to the living room. “I mean, I will, if you need.”

“That’s okay,” said Grantaire. “You can stay.”

“Well, in that case,” Courfeyrac said, lounging on the couch above them. “Please, dish.”

Grantaire fidgeted. He would never stop hating talking about his feelings, but he felt this might be necessary.

“I like Enjolras,” he said. “And everyone’s known that forever, I think, but there are new developments.”

“My God, new developments,” said Courfeyrac breathlessly.

“Yeah, uh. We kissed a while ago, which you know about, and have been in this fucking, like, liminal space, dating-wise. Which is okay and everything, because I’d take any percentage of Enjolras I could get, right?” said Grantaire.

Jehan and Courfeyrac both nodded. They’d both seen Grantaire at the height of his pining for Enjolras, back when Enjolras wouldn’t even look in his direction for longer than a moment. It was painful. They both knew Grantaire would take anything Enjolras was willing to give him and wouldn’t ask for more.

“The thing is I kind of like someone else? And it doesn’t, like, detract from my like for Enjolras, which we all know is pitiful in its infinite nature, it’s just. Additional. And I was thinking that they might like each other, this unnamed person and Enjolras, and I was thinking that if I could get Enjolras to realize this, then maybe he could stop messing around with me and go be in a more functional relationship with this guy. Because, I mean, I think they’d be more functional together than Enjolras and I would be.”

“Oh, holy fuck,” said Courfeyrac, running a hand through their hair. Jehan patted him on the shoulder.

“Darling,” said Jehan. “You don’t have to give up Enjolras because you think another person likes him, certainly not when  _ you _ also like that person.”

“They’d be better together than either of them would be with me,” said Grantaire. “We don’t work together.”

“I’m going to save us all some time. Is the person in question Combeferre?” asked Jehan.

Grantaire buried his face in his hands. “He’s so  _ kind _ , Jehan. Have you seen his freckles?”

“Have you seen his arms?” asked Courfeyrac. “Stellar work, truly. You know he used to play rugby?”

“Oh, God,” said Grantaire. “He used to play  _ rugby _ .”

“You do not have to give up Enjolras for Combeferre’s sake,” said Jehan.

Grantaire rubbed his cheek. “They’d be good together. They  _ are _ good together, the way they are now.”

“That’s true,” said Courfeyrac. “However, I can’t help but think something would be missing. I wonder what. Oh, dear.”

“Nothing would be missing,” said Grantaire seriously.

“Something would be missing,” Jehan and Courfeyrac said in unision.

“Someone, perhaps,” said Jehan, looking intently at Grantaire.

“What are you guys talking about?” asked Grantaire.

Enjolras and Grantaire were, if you asked Courfeyrac, destined to be together from the beginning. Enjolras was the Sun and Grantaire was the Moon, and despite being more than a few miles apart in distance and size and despite being made up of very, very different things, they were always going to be two sides to the same coin. Courfeyrac thought that maybe his past self was some kind of an idiot for not noticing, but Combeferre was always destined to be there as well. Courfeyrac had thought about where Combeferre fit in - he couldn’t be the sky, that would be too cold, that expanse of outer space which could only juggle the sun and the moon one at a time, at best holding on to the two of them for an hour while one is out of it’s element. The stars, maybe, but they were too scattered, even farther in distance than the sun and moon are from one another, and maybe Combeferre  _ was _ that far away, but he was getting closer while stars were always moving further away. Stars are just like the Sun, anyway, only they don’t belong to us. Combeferre wasn’t the sky or stars, Courfeyrac decided. He was the Earth.

He was the Earth for a multitude of reasons, starting with that he was the most familiar seeming to anyone he met, charming librarians and punks alike, and he always smelled like home and acted like the kid you knew in biology class who you wouldn’t necessarily say no to, and you could say he was the most normal in that he was the least alien in a widespread sort of way, but that was hardly true. You could dive into the oceans and find a plethora of untapped information and potential and strangeness, and the Earth buzzes with activity so intense that it will writhe and push into literally changing the makeup of itself with volcanoes and earthquakes, and what was Combeferre’s birthmark but an island on his face? Who was he but a mass of shifting parts who only want to learn? And maybe he and the moon have it in common that they orbit the sun, and maybe the moon orbits the earth and, to be honest, it doesn’t altogether matter _what_ _order they orbit_ exactly, because Earth can’t survive without either of them. The Sun and Moon might be two sides of the same coin, but the Earth is the rim, the ridged part that holds it all together. It all falls apart if you take one of the pieces away.

“Grantaire,” said Jehan. “We are suggesting that you pursue both Combeferre  _ and _ Enjolras in a polyamorous relationship.”

Courfeyrac nodded. Grantaire gaped.

“That’s fucking crazy,” he said. “That’s bullshit.”

“It would work,” said Jehan.

“It would be terrible,” said Grantaire. “We’d fucking implode on ourselves.”

“Or you could love and cherish each other for all eternity,” said Courfeyrac.

Grantaire peered at him. “Man, you really  _ have _ been hanging out with Jehan, haven’t you?”

“Hush. Look, I know this is not the kind of thing that is easy for you to accept, but I suggest you give it a try. We have confirmation that Enjolras likes you. That is what we know,” Jehan gave a stern look towards Courfeyrac, determined not to give anyone’s secrets away. “So, it would be safe to say that you have a solid shot at dating him. We also know that you like both Enjolras and Combeferre, and that your like for one does not take away from your like of the other. That’s ideal for a polyamorous relationship. What, at this point, is speculation, is that  Enjolras and Combeferre like each other. We don’t have confirmation of that. We do have some substantial evidence, I’ll admit, but none that does not also apply to the working theory I propose, that Combeferre also likes  _ you _ . Though, I  _ can not confirm that at this juncture _ , the evidence lines up quite nicely.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Are we sure Bahorel’s getting the law degree? Did you change majors when I wasn’t looking?”

“I’m very sure,” said Jehan. “I am not telling you to go woo them immediately.”

“I am,” said Courfeyrac. “I’m very in favor of wooing.”

“Do not attempt to woo them at the moment,” said Jehan. “But please consider the evidence at hand.”

\---

The next week, when the three of them met in the library again, Grantaire noticed it. They’d been working for upwards of an hour, taking painstaking notes and doodling on each others papers, and Grantaire saw it. He and Combeferre had bumped hands - such was often the case when Grantaire attempted to draw on paper while someone was taking notes on it - and Combeferre stiffened. He didn’t draw away and he didn’t say anything, but his hand was certainly tense. Grantaire drew back, fearful that he’d made Combeferre uncomfortable, and saw a blush creeping up under his collar.

_ Oh, _ Grantaire thought.  _ Oh, they were right _ .

It was difficult to for him to believe, mostly because Grantaire saw himself as being a repulsive person despite evidence to the contrary, so he decided to gather more evidence.

“You never told me what you thought of the drawing,” Grantaire said, trying his best not to sound suspicious.

“Oh!” said Combeferre. “It was, well, lovely. I don’t know how to compliment art, but, it truly was, Grantaire.”

The blush persisted. It was threatening Combeferre’s ears.

“Yes,” said Enjolras. “We have it hanging in the kitchen. On the fridge.”

“On the fridge!” said Grantaire, smiling. “Like I’m a child! That’s amazing, you know, I could just kiss the both of you.”

Combeferre’s blush overtook him. He coughed. Enjolras leaned forward slightly, in an unconscious manner.

_ Holy shit _ , Grantaire thought.  _ Jehan and Courfeyrac were fucking right. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i mean i dont usually feel all that confident in my writing but its just. even less so this time? this feels really shaky, so, sorry about that. my mom and i have a pretty strained relationship and its taking a toll atm, so im not at my best. leave a comment anyway?  
> if you want to get in touch with me when im not on ao3, or if you just want to hang out, follow me on tumblr @putoriius


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mm,” hummed Jehan. “Listen, I’m going to blow your mind.”
> 
> “Oh?” asked Enjolras.
> 
> “Yes,” said Jehan. “You don’t have to forfeit Grantaire for Combeferre’s feelings, in part because Combeferre would never let that get in the way of your friendship and neither would Grantaire, but also because you can just date both of them.”
> 
> “What?” asked Enjolras.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys whats up  
> so since i posted the last chapter ive had a family member in and out of the hospital, and its been making it kind of hard to write. sorry about that.  
> this chapter is a little back in time, picking up where we left off with combeferre and enjolras walking home in the snow.

\---

Enjolras exhaled. He could see his breath, too.

“Why didn’t you tell me you liked him?” Enjolras asked.

“I was trying to ignore it,” said Combeferre.

“You can’t just ignore things when you feel them,” said Enjolras.

“You can’t, maybe,” said Combeferre. “Once you know you’re feeling something, you can’t put it away. I can try.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” said Enjolras, eyebrows drawing together. “You’re allowed to have crushes, ‘Ferre.”

“I know that,” said Combeferre.

It was snowing harder by now. It was getting caught in both of their eyelashes and freezing their noses. Enjolras blinked them away, or tried to, because he wanted to see Combeferre clearer. It had been foggy of late. Combeferre let them fall, and tried his best to keep his eyes open. He only tried to blink the cold away when he couldn’t bear it anymore.

“It’s okay that you like him,” said Enjolras. “I’m not - I’m not, you know,  _ territorial _ , it’s okay that we both like him.”

“I know that,” said Combeferre again.

“Why didn’t you tell me before? I know, of course, that you do not need to tell me anything that you don’t want to, but it’s the sort of information that I would really, really like to know, and that would change my actions.”

“Enjolras,” said Combeferre. “I’d tell you anything, and you know that. I didn’t tell you about this because I didn’t  _ want _ your actions to change. I want you to pursue Grantaire.”

“Why?” asked Enjolras.

“He makes you happy,” said Combeferre. “And you make him happy, and I’m not in love with him, anyway. It’s a little crush, and I can get over it.”

“You two would be good together,” said Enjolras. “You could go after him.”

“A crush does not directly translate into action,” said Combeferre. His nose was growing cold.

“I wouldn’t be hurt if you wanted to,” said Enjolras.

Combeferre reached out for Enjolras’s hand. Enjolras was a few inches shorter than Combeferre and, like he did with nearly everyone he knew, Combeferre had to bend down to reach him.

“I want you to date him,” said Combeferre. “Whatever you feel for him is obviously more than a passing crush. I think you’re in love with him.”

Enjolras flushed, but it might have been the cold. They’d been standing in one place for too long.

“Well,” said Enjolras. “Grantaire is fully capable of deciding who he does and does not date himself. It’s rude of us to talk about him like this.”

Combeferre exhaled. He could see his breath.

“Can we go home now? It’s freezing,” said Combeferre.

“Yeah,” Enjolras nodded. “Yeah, we can.”

Combeferre turned to walk. Enjolras linked their arms together and latched on. Combeferre eased into it.

\---

Combeferre didn’t spend a lot of time in his bedroom. He had a desk with a bulletin board above it, but it was mostly bare because he very rarely worked at the desk. Unlike Enjolras, he enjoyed sitting at a desk - it was just that he preferred to work around other people, so he normally worked at the kitchen table to be around Enjolras. He took the folded drawing out of his pocket and smoothed it out on the desk. He had it facing wrong side up, both to preserve the surprise and to avoid smudging the drawing. It was in pen, he knew, and had well since dried, but he felt he needed to be careful. He turned it over. It was of both Combeferre and Enjolras: Combeferre with his head down, facing his book, and Enjolras looking directly at Grantaire. His eyes were sharp, practically see-through. They looked natural and warm together. He loved it. He’d forgotten that Grantaire was first and foremost an artist. He’d forgotten what kinds of things Grantaire could do. He’d forgotten that Grantaire didn’t really draw scenes or people - he drew emotions, or qualities. He drew the experience, and people were very often the vehicle he used. 

Combeferre had been overwhelmed all night, but this might have been the tipping point. He could feel his eyes burning.

There was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” he called.

The bedroom door cracked open. It was darker in his room than he thought, and the light of the living room spilled in and illuminated Enjolras in the doorway.

“Hi,” he said, looking timid. Combeferre gestured for him to come and sit down.

“I have a question I want to ask you, but I’m worried that it will be too personal,” said Enjolras, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“It’s what you said,” said Combeferre. “You could tell me anything you wanted, and I’d still be here for you. I don’t know that there’s anything too personal for us.”

Enjolras smiled. It was watery and uncertain.

“I just have to ask,” said Enjolras. “Why did you try to support me? You know, when I was going after Grantaire.”

“I’d support you through anything,” said Combeferre, which was true.

“Even this?” asked Enjolras.

Combeferre shrugged. “I’m not desperately carried away with him, you know. I’m not  _ madly _ in love. I just like him. It’s in a very schoolyard sort of way. You liked him before me, anyhow.”

“You can’t call dibs on a person,” Enjolras shook his head softly. “It doesn’t matter who liked him first.”

“I know you can’t call dibs on a person. I just mean that, well, I didn’t want to intrude, or step on your feelings. I knew you wouldn’t go after him if you thought it might hurt  _ us _ , and I wanted you to go after him. I  _ still _ want you to go after him,” said Combeferre.

“But  _ why? _ ” asked Enjolras. “I don’t understand why you would want someone else to go after someone you like. Now, I know I don’t really do crushes or relationships, or what-have-you, but it all usually follows some kind of motivational pattern. I mean, from what I’ve seen. There’s a stimulus or motivation, and then everything else is a reaction to it. I don’t follow your motivation.”

“I want you both to be  _ happy _ ,” said Combeferre. “And if you love him and he loves you, I think you will be.”

“I wouldn’t be happy without you, though. Neither would Grantaire,” Enjolras pointed out.

“I wouldn’t be going anywhere,” said Combeferre. “You’d still have me.”

Enjolras hummed to himself and bit his lip. He  _ would _ still have Combeferre, he supposed, but something felt dishonest about dating Grantaire and having Combeferre on the sidelines. That was, if he could even date Grantaire in the first place.

“You’re thinking too hard,” said Combeferre. “Grantaire likes you, but he’s been liking you for longer than you’ve been liking him, and he doesn’t want to scare you away. He doesn’t think he’s ready for a relationship at the moment.”

“What do you think?”

“I think he hasn’t realized he’s already in one. I mean, I know you two have decided to forgo labels for the time being, but tell me, what would change if you started calling him your boyfriend?”

Enjolras thought on this for a moment. The first change, he thought, is that he’d probably be kissing Grantaire a lot more than he was currently. The second would be their sudden ability to hold hands without dancing around it. He knew for sure that he loved Grantaire, and that he would be glad and lucky to be in a relationship with him. He also knew there would be something missing. He couldn’t place it, but there would be something keeping them off balance.

\---

Jehan was in their favorite position - that is, they were draped dramatically across Courfeyrac on the couch.

“I work very hard, Courf,” said Jehan.

“I know, sweetheart,” said Courfeyrac.

“It’s all very close to coming together,” said Jehan. “They’re just being idiots about it.”

“Mhm,” Courfeyrac leaned over to give Jehan a kiss on the forehead.

“It’s very frustrating,” said Jehan. “Because I’ve had to give each of them a little push. I mean, I anticipated having to push Grantaire, and  _ maybe _ Enjolras, but not Combeferre. I thought Combeferre was supposed to be the rational one.”

“Mhm,” Courfeyrac hummed.

“But here I am! And I’ve had to push Combeferre  _ and _ Grantaire, and I’m going to have to push Enjolras if he doesn’t start noticing his own emotions.”

“Mhm.”

“Courfeyrac,” said Jehan, twisting up to straddle him suddenly. “Would you do me a massive favor?”

“Anything,” said Courfeyrac, eyes wide.

“Please call Musichetta for me,” said Jehan. “We must enlist the help of the most perfect triad to date.”

Courfeyrac wrapped their arms around Jehan. “That is not what I had in mind,” he said.

“Oh, well, we can do that other thing, too,” said Jehan, smiling. “You can call Musichetta afterwards.

Courfeyrac grinned.

\---

“I hear you’re having second thoughts about pursuing our lovely Grantaire,” said Jehan.

Enjolras took a sip of coffee. “From who?”

“Unimportant,” said Jehan, waving a hand,

“Have you been talking to Combeferre?” asked Enjolras.

“I know that you’re in love with Grantaire. He’s very smitten with you, you know,” said Jehan.

“I know that you and Combeferre have weekly tea dates,” said Enjolras.

“Would you like something to fiddle with?” asked Jehan, looking at Enjolras’s hands. Enjolras wasn’t jittery, necessarily, but often became uneasy if there wasn’t something in his hands. Sometimes a book was enough, even if he was just holding it.

“No, thank you,” said Enjolras.

Jehan pursed their lips. They wished Enjolras would just give in and stim every once in awhile. They wished his parents hadn’t tried to squeeze it out of him.

“Why would you decide not to go after him?” asked Jehan.

Enjolras shrugged. “I’ve gotten some new information.”

“Is it about Combeferre?” asked Jehan.

Enjolras raised his eyebrows. “Did he tell you?”

“Weekly tea dates,” said Jehan. “Though I did have to dig it out of him.”

“I just wish I’d known,” said Enjolras. “I was talking about Grantaire with him, it might have hurt him.”

“Mm,” hummed Jehan. “Listen, I’m going to blow your mind.”

“Oh?” asked Enjolras.

“Yes,” said Jehan. “You don’t have to forfeit Grantaire for Combeferre’s feelings, in part because Combeferre would never let that get in the way of your friendship and neither would Grantaire, but  _ also _ because  _ you can just date both of them _ .”

“What?” asked Enjolras.

“I believe that’s our cue,” said Musichetta, coming in through the door with Joly and Bossuet in tow.

“Hello,” said Enjolras, feeling thoroughly surprised.

The three newcomers took their seats opposite Enjolras and Jehan.

“Enjolras,” said Musichetta. “This is an intervention.”

“Um,” said Enjolras. “I don’t understand.”

“We thought that might be the case,” said Bossuet.

“These are very confusing times,” said Joly.

“We just thought you should know what your options are,” said Musichetta.

Enjolras blinked at them, looking very wide-eyed.

“We aren’t saying that you should run up to the both of them, shouting for them to join you in bed,” said Bossuet.

“We’re just saying that the emotional turmoil you’re putting yourself through is illogical,” said Joly. “I mean, if your concern is that you’d be neglecting Combeferre, or ignoring his emotions, you wouldn’t have to worry. You could just, like, date both of them.”

“That’s insane,” said Enjolras. “Not polyamory itself, which is viable and healthy, but the idea of the three of us dating. That’s impossible.”

“For God’s sake,” said Jehan, placing a hand on their forehead.

“I’m serious!” said Enjolras. “That would require the three of us to like each other.”

“Your point?” said Musichetta, raising an eyebrow.

“We don’t,” said Enjolras. “It doesn’t go every way.”

“Yeah, alright,” said Bossuet. “But, like, where’s your proof?”

Enjolras bit his lip. He couldn’t provide significant evidence that Grantaire didn’t like Combeferre, and when he thought about it, there wasn’t significant evidence that Combeferre would reject a romantic relationship with Enjolras himself.

“I have to admit that there isn’t significant evidence that they’d necessarily  _ reject _ a proposal like that,” said Enjolras slowly. “But the absence of a rejection is not the same thing as active interest. I don’t want that in a relationship.”

“Who said anything about a lack of active interest?” said Musichetta loudly. “I believe there to be  _ significant _ interest.”

“Prove it,” said Enjolras, feeling irritated and bold.

“You like Combeferre, yes?” said Musichetta. “Tell me one thing about your affection for him that he doesn’t match.”

“Your premise is flawed,” said Enjolras. “I don’t have romantic interest in Combeferre.”

“Are you very sure?” asked Joly.

“Think hard about it,” said Bossuet. So he did.

He didn’t love Combeferre. Well, he did, but it was different than the way he loved Grantaire. Combeferre was familiar in every way Grantaire was surprising and unfamiliar. He cared too much about Combeferre to give him up for a romantic interest. He wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize his relationship with Combeferre - and that included roping him into this nonsense.

Well. Enjolras would be first in line to explain to anyone that platonic attachments are as strong and important as any other, but he couldn’t deny how it sounded, even in his head.

“Hon,” said Musichetta. “You look like you’re gonna give yourself an aneurysm.”

“I’m thinking,” said Enjolras.

“What’s there to think about?” asked Bossuet. “They’re both cute, and sometimes you want to kiss both of their faces.”

Enjolras blushed. He thought about kissing Combeferre’s face - maybe on that birthmark he had, right underneath his eye. Enjolras would be able to feel Combeferre’s eyelashes on his cheek. He blushed harder.

“Don’t strain yourself,” said Joly. “Like we said, this isn’t to force you into anything. We just want you to know there are options.”

“There’s no use beating yourself up over something that isn’t even a situation,” said Jehan.

“Yeah,” said Enjolras. “I get it.”

\---

Musichetta, Joly, and Bossuet left shortly after the conversation ended. Enjolras turned to Jehan as soon as the door closed behind them.

“You told them without my permission,” he said. Jehan’s eyes widened.

“I was trying to help you,” they said. “You weren’t getting it.”

“I appreciate the help,” said Enjolras. “I appreciate that you wanted to help. You could have just used them as an example in conversation, if you wanted. There was no need to call them and tell them about my personal thoughts and feelings that I shared with you in  _ confidence _ . You should have asked me first.”

“I’m sorry,” said Jehan. They meant it.

“Okay,” said Enjolras.

“I’m really sorry,” said Jehan. They were. They’d gotten fairly swept up in the gimmick of it all and forgotten who they were talking to. They’d forgotten themselves.

“Okay,” said Enjolras. “I think I’d like to go home now.”

“Okay,” said Jehan quietly.

Enjolras stood up. He brushed the front on his pants off, just to have something to do. Then he walked out. Jehan exhaled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter should bring everyone back to the same time. i hope this was alright? i mean, its like 2:40 am and im really tired and wrote this all in one go, so who knows.  
> since i last posted a chapter in this fic, i posted two other fics! i wrote a little enjolras/grantaire doodad called 'gravity assist', so if you're into stem!grantaire, please check it out! the other is for the raven cycle, and it has basically no plot. both have one more chapter to be posted, i think.  
> just for clarification, jehan didn't want grantaire attempting to woo anyone last chapter because they want grantaire to actually believe combeferre and enjolras like him first. at that time, grantaire was too unsure and self-conscious to make any moves.  
> if you want to hang out with me when im not on ao3, follow me on tumblr @putoriius !  
> as always, please leave a comment!! i love them all so much and im having a really stressful time at home and they really help.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’ve just been kind of stressed,” said Enjolras. “More than usual.”
> 
> “You’re already a remarkably stressed individual,” said Combeferre

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for your well wishes. if you were wondering, the family member that was in the hospital is now back out and doing much better.  
> idk whats happening in this chapter! i wrote it all in one sitting just now lmao but! it looks like we're approaching the end, folks. theres probably a few more chapters and then i already have ideas for what i want to write next AND a couple of one shots i want for this verse. im getting ahead of myself. its ridiculous, because i dont even know where im going with this fic rn. enjoy anyway?

When he woke up the following morning, there was a pie on the counter.

“What’s this for?” asked Combeferre.

Enjolras shrugged. “You know I don’t bake.”

Combeferre picked up the note that had been left with it.

_We’re so sorry! We thought they would have told you. Enjoy the pie as our apology._

  -  _ _JBM__

 

“Mean anything to you?” asked Combeferre.

Enjolras rubbed the back of his neck. His elbow was protruding out, facing Combeferre. Combeferre was struck by how red Enjolras’s person always was. He wasn’t _bony_ , per say, but he was thin and waifish, and his joints and knuckles were often flushed just for that he was active during the day. His elbow was bright red.

“Yes,” said Enjolras. “I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

Combeferre wanted to press - Musichetta would never do anything to harm Enjolras intentionally, and he was unable to think of a situation in which she could upset him - but that ran the risk of Enjolras clamming up entirely. Besides, he wouldn’t ever try to force Enjolras into telling him anything.

“That’s alright,” said Combeferre. “I’m here if you want to talk about it later, though.”

Enjolras smiled. “I know.”

Enjolras was miraculously beautiful. Combeferre had heard Grantaire lament it before, talking of how he almost seemed illuminated, how his curls framed his head like a golden halo, how he looked like a Klimt, or like a Baroque take on the Renaissance. Unable to look directly at Enjolras, Combeferre looked down at his hands, grinning slightly. He was reminded of his evening with Grantaire, how Grantaire could never look him directly in the eye.

That was interesting, wasn’t it? That Grantaire couldn’t look him in the eye when he was smiling.

Combeferre suddenly understood.

\---

“I fucked up,” said Jehan, sitting on Grantaire’s chest. Jehan had done this once, back when Grantaire smoked, and Grantaire had coughed violently enough that Jehan thought he might need a hospital. Jehan was small enough and light enough that it didn’t usually matter when they sat on people. It was fine now that Grantaire had stopped smoking, but it had taken some coaxing to convince Jehan it would be alright.

“Okay,” said Grantaire. “What kind of fuck up?”

Jehan looked tense and watery. “I invaded Enjolras’s privacy. In, like, a pretty bad way. I can’t tell you about it because I don’t want to do it _again_.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” said Grantaire.

“I just thought,” said Jehan. “I mean, you know him better than I do. We all know that I am an excellent gift-giver, but I thought you might know something about him that could help me in my endeavors. You might know his favorite color or something.”

“Gold,” said Grantaire, blinking sleep away.

“Gold?” asked Jehan. “My, I’d have guessed red.”

Grantaire’s lip quirked up slightly. “Everyone does.”

Jehan unfolded themselves and made for the door. They paused, hand on the doorframe, halfway out.

“It was my fault,” they said. “I overstepped. Don’t ask Enjolras about it unless he brings it up with you.”

“Okay,” said Grantaire.

Jehan slipped out.

\---

“?אתה יכול לדבר איתי בעברית” asked Combeferre.

“Oh, fuck,” said Enjolras, sinking into his beanbag. “Um, אהבה,רַגוּעַ,לנְגוֹעַ. Sure.”

Combeferre laughed. “That wasn’t even a sentence.”

“In my defense, I’m very tired. Also, you’re better at languages than I am,” said Enjolras.

“You have excellent linguistic prowess,” said Combeferre, reaching out to ruffle Enjolras’s hair. “You’ll be alright with practice.”

“I’ve been putting it on the backburner,” said Enjolras. “And I don’t mean to. I really want to do this for Grantaire.”

“But?” asked Combeferre.

“I’ve just been kind of stressed,” said Enjolras. “More than usual.”

“You’re already a remarkably stressed individual,” said Combeferre, eyebrows knitting together in worry. “Would this have anything to do with the pie from this morning?”

“Yes,” Enjolras rolled his shoulders back. It didn’t help how stiff he felt. “I’d like to talk with you about that, but not now. I can do it tomorrow.”

“You don’t ever have to tell me if you don’t want,” said Combeferre.

“I want to, though,” said Enjolras. “However, I wouldn’t force you to listen to me.”

Combeferre rolled his eyes, feeling affectionate. He sometimes felt completely at Enjolras’s whim, like Enjolras could ask to be hand-fed grapes and he’d do it. It was ridiculous that Enjolras would ever think he was _forcing_ Combeferre to listen to anything - Combeferre was glad to hear it.

“I’m always here for you,” said Combeferre. “Always.”

\---

This time, it was eleven in the morning. Grantaire was asleep when he got there.

“I’m sorry,” said Enjolras. “I didn’t mean to wake you up. I tried to wait until it was a bit later than last time.”

“It’s chill,” said Grantaire, still groggy and disheveled from bed.

“Um,” said Enjolras. “Can I come in?”

Grantaire’s eyes were small, squinting against the morning light. “Oh, yeah. Sorry, I’m really fucking tired.”

Enjolras followed Grantaire inside the apartment.

“I don’t want to intrude,” said Enjolras. “And you have every right to refuse me, but I’d prefer to have this conversation with some privacy.”

Grantaire cocked his head, confused. “Okay?”

Enjolras bounced lightly on the balls of his feet. He and Grantaire looked at one another for a moment.

“Can we talk in your room?” Enjolras blurted. “I mean, privacy.”

“Oh,” said Grantaire. “Oh! Yeah, um, it’s probably like, a trainwreck in there or something. I’m warning you now so you can’t judge me.”

“I’m sure it’s alright,” said Enjolras.

They entered Grantaire’s room. It was a trainwreck in there. Things were strewn across the floor - books and papers in no organized fashion, broken paint brushes, a set of cheap Crayola markers, and what appeared to be something which had been a stuffed animal at one point or another. Things were all over the walls, too - large prints of Klimt’s golden works, a poster from the Museum of the Weird, post-it notes, and glow-in-the-dark stars. His bookshelf was just as chaotic, and Enjolras was determined to organize it some other time.

“Trainwreck, I told you,” said Grantaire, moving to sit on the bed. “What can I do you for?”

“Well,” said Enjolras, sitting next to Grantaire. “First, I would like to ask if you’d kiss me.”

“I’m dreaming,” said Grantaire. “I’m still asleep.”

“You aren’t,” said Enjolras.

“Christ,” said Grantaire.

“I need you to give me verbal consent,” said Enjolras, looking intently at Grantaire’s mouth.

“Yes,” said Grantaire. “I’m giving you verbal consent to kiss me.”

They kissed. It went much better this time than it had in the pancake shop. Enjolras didn’t surge forward like he had the first time - he came up softly, Grantaire sitting in unmoving shock of the situation. There was a moment just before their lips touched where Enjolras stilled about a centimeter from the kiss, just to savor it. He hovered for a second, and then they kissed. It was softer than it had been the first time. It was a thousand times more intimate, what with it being in the privacy of Grantaire’s room and not in the middle of a restaurant.  Neither of them opened their mouths.

“Holy shit,” Grantaire said, pulling away slightly. They were still so close to each other that Enjolras could feel little puffs of air when Grantaire spoke.

“Yeah,” said Enjolras. “Holy shit.”

Grantaire laughed - a tiny exhale, but a laugh nonetheless. The corners of his mouth were quirking up into a smile, and he dipped down to kiss Enjolras again.

If you asked Enjolras, there was no such thing as an _electric kiss_ . If you kissed someone and felt a _spark_ , felt some kind of _electricity_ , it was because the both of you had gathered some static. There wasn’t a spark kissing Grantaire. Enjolras wasn’t sure, because he’d never had an electric kiss, but he thought that this must be _much, much better_ . Everything he was feeling felt important, felt heightened, felt like he was _floating_ , and that there wasn’t anything in the room other than Grantaire and himself, like his face was on fire, like he had an oral fixation, like he’d forgotten how time worked, like he was going to die if Grantaire ever stopped kissing him. He tasted like coffee. That was a funny thing about Grantaire - he slept almost exclusively in cat naps and had probably already been awake at six this morning, gotten some coffee, and gone back to bed. He tasted like shitty coffee, the generic stuff that Enjolras wouldn’t buy, and in this moment he thought he’d start buying it if it meant that Grantaire would come over, or if it meant that Grantaire would kiss him more often if only he tasted familiar.

Neither of them much wanted to pull away, but Enjolras could feel Grantaire smiling, and it made him smile, and the two of them were smiling and giggling in such a way that they couldn’t hold their mouths together anymore. Grantaire pressed his forehead against Enjolras’s.

“Are you alright?” asked Enjolras quietly.

“Yeah,” said Grantaire. “Just got to get my bearings.”

They couldn’t kiss each other again. They were both too keyed up for it, so they sat together for a moment, catching their breath.

“Um,” said Grantaire, pulling away enough to look Enjolras in the eye. “You didn’t come over here just to kiss me, did you? You had something you wanted to talk about.”

“Yes,” Enjolras straightened himself out. “I don’t know what Jehan’s told you, if anything, but we had a conversation the other day.”

Grantaire furrowed his eyebrows. “They said they’d fucked up somehow, but didn’t tell me anything else. They said they didn’t want to risk invading your privacy, I think.”

Enjolras bit his lip, which was still buzzing from kissing Grantaire. He was glad that Jehan hadn’t told Grantaire anything, that they hadn’t made the same mistake again. He wished Jehan would reach out to him, though.

“That sounds correct,” said Enjolras. “The topic of conversation concerns that.”

“I don’t want to stand between the two of you,” said Grantaire.

“Oh, no,” said Enjolras hurriedly. “Jehan pointed some things out to me during our talk, and I want to talk about them with you.”

“Oh,” said Grantaire.

“You’ll remember that when I brought you scones, I said I wasn’t asking you to marry me,” said Enjolras.

“I recall,” said Grantaire, sounding amused.

“I’m still not asking you to marry me,” said Enjolras. “But I would really like to enter a relationship with you.”

Grantaire inhaled. “Um, you and Jehan talked about our hypothetical relationship?”

“Jehan meddles,” said Enjolras. “They saw certain conflicts surrounding the relationship and called in the cavalry.”

“What’s the cavalry?” asked Grantaire.

“Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta,” said Enjolras.

A light bulb flicked on in Grantaire’s head.

“Oh,” he said. “Oh, God.”

“Are you okay?” asked Enjolras.

“I can’t believe that,” said Grantaire. “Did they, um, tell you?”

“Tell me?” asked Enjolras. “Tell me what?”

“I don’t know why they would have brought in the triad if they hadn’t,” said Grantaire, sounding stressed. “They could have brought in Courfeyrac, or hell, even Marius and Cosette.”

“Grantaire,” said Enjolras. “I don’t know what you’re talking about right now.”

Grantaire stopped. He’d been fidgeting something awful and sounding more and more upset the longer he went on.

“You don’t have to tell me,” said Enjolras.

“I want a relationship,” said Grantaire, wide-eyed. “Know that.”

“Okay, I do,” said Enjolras. He was feeling light-headed, both from the news that Grantaire wanted him in a relationship and from the sudden worry he had for Grantaire.

“I told them some things a while ago,” said Grantaire. “Uh, one of them being, you know, that I want to date you. Which you know now. Christ.”

Grantaire pressed his hand against his forehead.

“Jehan didn’t tell me anything about what you said,” said Enjolras.

“Great,” said Grantaire. “But now _I_ have, and I have to tell you now or it’ll eat at me.”

Grantaire inhaled.

“I told Jehan that I like someone else,” said Grantaire. “And that it didn’t detract from my like for you, right? Like, it’s not just a pool of like in my heart, and it’s not like you guys are fighting for resources. It’s like, I like the both of you and neither of them are taking away from the other, and the problem is that I think you and this other person would be better off without me. As in, I think you two should date.”

“Oh,” said Enjolras, feeling small suddenly. “I thought - I mean, you said you wanted to date me.”

“I do,” said Grantaire quickly. “God, Enjolras, I’d love to date you. I’d take anything you’d give me, even if you wanted to go back to the way things were before, just as long as I could still see you.”

Enjolras flushed. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s so stupid and I’m so sorry,” said Grantaire. “The gist is that I like the two of you and it doesn’t mean I like _you_ any less, I’m still - I still, you know, it’s just that I think that you and this other person would actually be, like, really good together. Without me.”

“So, you thought that Jehan told me all of that, and that they called in Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta to convince me to convince you into what? A triad?” asked Enjolras.

“They were trying to spare me,” said Grantaire. “Spare my feelings, I guess.”

“Geez,” said Enjolras, pushing a lock of hair behind his left ear. “Some of what you said is correct.”

“Only some?” asked Grantaire.

“They did call them in to convince me of a triad,” said Enjolras. “But not because of anything you said. Jehan had some suspicions.”

“Suspicions?” asked Grantaire.

“Jehan thought that I liked a person in addition to liking you and that we would work well together,” said Enjolras. “I literally hadn’t noticed that I liked someone else. God, it took me long enough to notice I liked _you_ , and I - well, suffice to say, I understand what you mean about interest in another person not draining your interest in the first person.”

A light bulb flickered on in Grantaire’s head. It was the correct bulb this time.

“You like Combeferre,” Grantaire said.

“Oh, um,” Enjolras bit his lip. “Am I especially obvious about it?”

“I mean, I guess? Actually, yes, you are, but listen,” said Grantaire. “I like Combeferre too.”

Enjolras’s mouth opened slightly in surprise. “You like Combeferre?” asked Enjolras.

“Jehan is a crafty minx,” said Grantaire, feeling more himself now that things were making sense.

“Yes,” Enjolras exhaled. “They certainly are.”

There was a beat of silence.

“You know, Jehan gave me a similar talk,” said Grantaire.

“Really?” said Enjolras.

“Yeah, I, um,” said Grantaire. “I told them basically what I told you, I guess? Like, that I think you and Combeferre would be good together and that I would weigh you down or whatever, and they were trying to get me to consider dating the both of you. Like, as a triad.”

“You think you’d weigh us down?” said Enjolras softly. It broke his heart to hear Grantaire talk like that, that Grantaire really thought so little of himself.

“I know I would,” said Grantaire. “The two of you are like, functioning adults and stuff. You’re both such _good people_ , and you’re both so _smart_ and everything, um. Yeah.”

“You wouldn’t weigh us down,” said Enjolras. “You wouldn’t weigh me down even if we were dating just the two of us, and I know Combeferre would agree with me. He cares for you, you know.”

Grantaire scratched his head. “Sure, he does.”

“He does,” said Enjolras. “In fact, I would say he’d date you. Actually, the main problem with the idea of a triad is that Combeferre doesn’t hold romantic interest in me.”

Grantaire scoffed. “Oh please,” he said. “Have you ever seen the way that boy looks at you? Has he ever denied you anything? I stand by my original stance that the two of you would be excellent together.”

Enjolras reached for Grantaire’s hand. It was rougher and larger than Enjolras’s own. Grantaire had once remarked that Enjolras could be a hand model, or maybe an everything model. Holding Grantaire’s hand reminded Enjolras of his childhood, of when he’d had to come up with quiet stims so his parents wouldn’t get upset with him. He used to rub the coarse wood on the underside of the dining table.

Grantaire squeezed Enjolras’s hand.

“I’m just saying, I think he likes you,” Grantaire said. “And, um. Oh my God.”

Grantaire shut his eyes and took a breath.

“I think,” said Grantaire. “That I would not be opposed to this whole triad idea. If you were both cool with it, I mean. Like, I’m good with anything at all. If you didn’t want to, I wouldn’t press it, or if me even suggesting it makes you want to just forgo the dating thing entirely, I’d be okay. It’s okay.”

Enjolras squeezed Grantaire’s hand back. “I think we could try. I think it could work. I think it _will_ work.”

“Hey, um,” Grantaire blushed slightly. “Is it okay if I kiss you again?”

Enjolras smiled. He bit his lip again. It was a nervous tic and something he did frequently when he was in situations like the one at hand. He was sure his lip would be raw by the end of the night.

“Yes, you can,” said Enjolras.

They met each other in the middle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> combeferre asked if enjolras would speak to him in hebrew. enjolras said a few random vocab words he remembered, love, calm, and to touch  
> my hebrew is actually terrible! im supposed to be looking into it further (in a lot of places, youre supposed to take some hebrew lessons if youre converting to judaism) but im not there yet lmao. my portuguese is much better, and so is my asl.  
> if you want to hang out w/ me when im not on ao3, come follow me on tumblr @putoriius !  
> as always, please leave me a comment or two! some of you are regular commenters (some of you leave them on every chapter!!!) and i love you!! thats so nice of you!! wtf!!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras turned back at Grantaire to swipe his knee.
> 
> “Geez,” Grantaire said. “That hurt, Enjolras.”
> 
> “We are having a good, emotional talk,” said Enjolras. “So I’m going to have to ask that you leave your defense mechanisms at the door.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god its been so long  
> im just on the edge of graduating (finally!!) so things are. very hectic around here atm. anyway! its here!

\---

Enjolras’s tattoo was just under the band of his jeans, beside his right hipbone. Combeferre and Feuilly had been there when he got it.

“Are you sure about this?” Combeferre asked.

“Yeah,” said Enjolras. “Even if I don’t want it later, who’s going to see it?”

“Well,” said Feuilly. “I can think of a couple situations where someone might happen upon it.”

Combeferre had turned pink then, and he turned pink now, remembering the moment while he made coffee.

The door flung open suddenly, startling Combeferre into dropping his spoon into his mug.

“Christ!” he said.

“Combeferre?” called Enjolras.

“Yes?” asked Combeferre. “I’m in the kitchen.”

Enjolras came around the corner. He looked flustered and flushed from the cold.

“Combeferre,” he said. Grantaire came in after him.

“Are you alright?” Combeferre asked. He looked between the two of them for a moment, trying to understand the situation at hand.

“I’m alright,” said Enjolras. “We’re both alright. We just have something to ask you.”

“Okay,” said Combeferre. He fumbled for a moment with his drink before turning to face them fully. “Do either of you want coffee?”

Enjolras, who was practically vibrating and bouncing off the walls as it was, shook his head. Grantaire looked as though he might have been considering it, but Enjolras spoke before Grantaire got the chance.

“We should talk now,” said Enjolras. “It isn’t bad. I just think we should talk about it right now.”

“Of course,” said Combeferre. “Of course.”

\---

They settled themselves into the couch. It was a tight squeeze, given that it was more of a loveseat than a couch, but they all wanted to sit next to each other.

“So, what is it?” asked Combeferre.

“It turns out we’re all idiots,” said Grantaire.

“Uh, probably,” said Combeferre.

Enjolras, who was sitting in the middle, straightened his back and turned to face Combeferre more directly.

“I must ask you a question,” he said. “And I need you to be entirely honest with me. With us.”

“Okay. Are you sure everything is alright?” Combeferre was looking substantially concerned. It was endearing.

“Can you confirm that you have some romantic feelings for me?” asked Enjolras. He said it plainly - clinically, like it was no big thing - but he was bright red at having asked at all.

“Oh,” said Combeferre. “Oh. I told you I’d back off.”

“I told you that you didn’t have to. And that didn’t answer my question,” said Enjolras.

Combeferre was suddenly looking decidedly neutral. It was that talent of his to give nothing away until he wanted to. Looking at him now and seeing how diplomatic he looked, Grantaire thought he would have done well as a lawyer.

Combeferre took a breath. “Yes,” he said. “I can confirm that.”

Enjolras grinned. “Fantastic. I reciprocate. Do you see where we’re going with this?”

Combeferre, who was still processing the words  _ ‘I reciprocate’ _ , did not see where they were going with this.

“You reciprocate?” he asked, slightly breathy in disbelief.

“I as well,” said Grantaire. “I’m, like, into you. Or whatever.”

Enjolras turned back at Grantaire to swipe his knee.

“Geez,” Grantaire said. “That  _ hurt _ , Enjolras.”

“We are having a good, emotional talk,” said Enjolras. “So I’m going to have to ask that you leave your defense mechanisms at the door.”

Grantaire squirmed, and then: “I like you,” he said. It was directed at Combeferre.

Combeferre’s lips parted slightly.

“Oh, wow,” said Combeferre.

Enjolras leaned in and put a hand on Combeferre’s knee. Combeferre didn’t move.

“We don’t mean to overwhelm you,”said Enjolras.

“Of course not,” said Grantaire. “But it turns out that Jehan’s some kind of a crafty minx, and we need to put a stop to it.”

Combeferre considered this. “And how do you propose we do that?”

“By getting together, maybe,” said Grantaire, looking unsure and uneasy.

“Um,” said Combeferre. “I’m going to need the two of you to be really, really obvious for a second here.”

“Combeferre,” said Enjolras kindly. “We’d like to try dating you.”

“As in a triad?” he asked.

“As in a triad,” they confirmed.

“Okay,” said Combeferre. “Okay. I need a moment. Is it alright if I take a moment?”

“Of course,” said Enjolras, who expected the moment to be taken right there on the couch.

“Okay,” said Combeferre, who stood up to take the moment in the safety of his room.

\---

He fell backwards onto the bed. They wanted to date him. That was fine.

Combeferre was known for being rational. That was his thing. He was good at it. He tried very hard to be good at it. His head would swim with impossibilities and trepidation and the only way he knew to get it to settle down was to work through it piece by piece. He’d needed to do it before he got into therapy - before his therapist taught him other coping mechanisms and before he ever started Zoloft - and he still liked to use it. It was relaxing.

(Courfeyrac joked about Combeferre being half Vulcan, just like Spock. Combeferre couldn’t deny the similarities.)

So, fine. Grantaire and Enjolras both liked him. Check.

He liked both Grantaire and Enjolras. Check.

They wanted - they claimed they wanted, they said they wanted, they  _ thought _ they wanted a relationship with him. A triad. Okay.

Problem 1: He wasn’t sure they knew what they were getting into. Combeferre was a good boyfriend - he knew that. He was all about putting other people first and he made a point to be considerate. He loved people wholly, and never dishonestly. He also knew he wasn’t as put-together as people on the outside might think, and he’d been doing so well on his medication that he hadn’t wanted to go back to therapy after he’d graduated from it, but sometimes he just felt so  _ worthless  _ that Problem 2, would arise.

Problem 2: He was kind of worthless. Like, he was pretty sure that cosmic purpose wasn’t even a  _ thing _ , but he still thought he was basically useless to have around. He was good at alot of things, sure. But other people were better, and if he wasn’t around, Enjolras and the rest of the Amis would be able to find someone to do those things.

Combeferre shut his eyes and pressed his palms against the lids. He knew better than to think like that. He’d have to make an appointment with his psychiatrist and see about a dose change with his meds if the problem persisted.

Problem 3: They were all he wanted. Well, fine - he wanted a few other things - to finish his degree, for one - but they were all he’d ever wanted in terms of significant others. Anything could happen, a tornado could surge around them, and he’d be alright if he just had them. Any celebrity crush would pale in comparison. He’d heard people talk about their loved ones perfection in awe. He’d heard people talk about their significant others in delight, saying they “practically made them in a computer”, like they were exactly designed for each other. Combeferre thought about his lacking design skills, how anyone he could have dreamt up wouldn’t have been anything next to Enjolras or Grantaire. They were all he wanted, which meant it was seeming awfully suspicious that they’d hand themselves over on a silver platter. It was too good to be true.

Combeferre rolled over onto his side. He knew he was overthinking it. He knew that. He sat up and took a deep breath. Then, he got a pad of paper and a pen.

“Okay,” he said. He wiped the back of his hand on his forehead. There wasn’t anything there, but sometimes it helped to ground him.

He drew up a list.  _ Why _ and  _ Why Not _ .

Why:

  * They’re kind.
  * They like me.
  * I like them.
  * We would work well together.
  * Won’t know if I don’t try.
  * We would be happy.



Why Not:

  * May not mesh well?
  * I might not be good enough for them.
  * Too good to be true?
  * Communication problems?



He sat back and looked at his list. When he thought about it, it became apparent that his  _ Why Not _ list was irrational. He knew, logically speaking, that being good enough for someone was hardly even a situation, especially since he was sure that he was a fundamentally good person. And if he knew that that point was, logically speaking, invalid, then the idea that it was just too good to be true  _ also _ had to be invalid. He could see the last point, that they had some communication problems, as being the only legitimate claim, and that was something they could work on. That was something all romantic partners had and something that they could change.

Okay.

\---

“What do you think he’s doing in there?” asked Enjolras.

“Thinking, I guess,” said Grantaire. He pulled at a string on the hem of his sweater.

“Hey,” said Enjolras, placing a hand over Grantaire’s. “It’s okay.”

“I know,” said Grantaire, though he was sure Combeferre was hiding away thinking of possible ways to break his rejection to them. He looked around the living room. “Why are there post-it notes everywhere?”

Enjolras grew pink. “Um,” he said.

Grantaire got up and wandered around the room, taking a closer look at the sticky notes.

“These are Hebrew,” he said. “Your apartment is filled with Hebrew.”

“Um,” said Enjolras.

Grantaire plucked a note off of the bookshelf. “ מדף הספרים,” he said. “!מדף הספרים”

“Um,” said Enjolras.

“Why is your apartment covered in Hebrew?” asked Grantaire. He didn’t look upset. He looked incredulous.

“Combeferre and I are learning,” said Enjolras. “He said you don’t get to speak it anymore.”

“Oh my God,” said Grantaire, eyes shining.

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” said Enjolras. “I was thinking we would tell you on your birthday.”

“Oh my God,” said Grantaire. “I want to kiss you. Both of you.”

There was a small creak. It was so soft that neither of them would have noticed it if not for that their senses felt heightened in the sea of emotions churning around them. They looked to the far side of the apartment, towards Combeferre’s door. Combeferre was standing in his doorway.

“I was thinking,” he said. “I was thinking that I’d really like to give this a shot, but we’d have to take it slow.”

“Of course,” said Enjolras, standing up.

“We’d talked about that, too,” said Grantaire. “None of us are in the place to support a serious relationship right now.”

Combeferre exhaled and smiled. He was nervous they’d want more out of him than he was capable of giving - or more than he knew was healthy for him to give. He suddenly felt relaxed and at ease.

“Okay,” said Combeferre.

“Okay?” asked Enjolras.

“Okay,” said Combeferre, nodding. “I’m saying yes.”

“He’s saying yes,” said Grantaire. “He’s saying  _ yes _ .”

Grantaire and Enjolras surged forward to meet Combeferre. They hadn’t yet learned how to hug properly - hugging with three people is a bit different than hugging with two - but even with the knocking limbs and confusion, it felt like all the pieces were coming together.

“Hey,” Grantaire pulled away slightly and looked at Combeferre. “You’re learning Hebrew.”

Combeferre laughed. “We’re kind of terrible at it,” he said. Enjolras nodded.

“Good,” said Grantaire. “I’ll teach you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its just about done, i think. im thinking this is the end of the arc and that id upload a sort of epilogue-ish thing as the last chapter in this work. i have some one-shots in the works that take place in the same universe, and i'll upload those as independent fics but as part of this collection.  
> please leave a comment! you all know i love comments, i really, really appreciate them.  
> if you want to hang out w/ me when im not on ao3, im on tumblr @putoriius !

**Author's Note:**

> comments are appreciated! they fuel my writing tbh


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